The First Time Around
by AndItsOuttaHere
Summary: This began as pre-series Raylan and Winona, but has taken on a life of its own in an alternate universe. There's no telling where it may go!
1. Chapter 1

_This began as an answer to a prompt in norbelulah's meme "Summer in Harlan". It's been begging me to extend it for quite awhile but I've been distracted by other things. Now seemed like a good time. More to come..._

Salt Lake City; 1998

She sits at the bar because Katie is late, just like Katie is always late, and the booths are all full with the after-work crowd, and she doesn't feel like waiting in the car. "Bourbon." She tells the bartender. "Straight up." It isn't her usual drink. She sticks to beer, mostly, or maybe a margarita, but something is making her inexplicably homesick and Daddy always drank bourbon, Mama, too, hell, in Kentucky everyone drank bourbon. So bourbon is what she orders.

"I'll have what she's having."

All she sees at first is the hat. Cowboy hats are not a rarity in Salt Lake City, but this one is different: less western businessman, more true cowboy. He lifts his head and gives her a grin that turns his handsome face boyish and open. The hat fits him.

They exchange names and acknowledge having seen each other in the courthouse.

"I know that accent," he says, sipping the whiskey. "You're from Kentucky." It's not a question.

"Lexington." She says. It's close enough to true.

"The big city." He laughs. "I'm from Harlan County."

They talk about home, about getting out, about never wanting to go back. He orders them a second drink, and after that one she glances at the clock and realizes Katie isn't going to show up. She's not sure she minds. There's something happening here, and three might most definitely end up being a crowd.

"Nice hat," she says. It's said flippantly and she regrets it immediately. He's instantly self-conscious. He doffs the hat, sitting it on the bar, and the conversation lags. Then she asks him about his job and he becomes animated again. He talks with his hands, and watching him is as intoxicating as the whiskey burning in her throat.

At some point they move to an empty booth and food is ordered, along with more bourbon. The hat goes from the bar to the tabletop, but not back on his head. She fingers it as she listens to him, running her hand along the brim as the waitress clears their plates and brings another round. She's lost track of how many they've had.

He's around her age, she thinks, although it's hard to tell. There's a hard line to his jaw, and fine lines around his eyes and on his forehead that crinkle into deeper ones when he smiles.

She knows he's observing her, too, looking her over when he thinks she won't notice, sizing her up. It's almost predatory, but in no way menacing. It makes her skin tingle with anticipation.

A band begins to play a passable cover of a popular country-rock song and the crowd phases from the quiet after work clusters to a rowdier after dinner throng. It's harder and harder to have a conversation without shouting and his eyes roam the room. She's noticed it's a habit, maybe something to do with being a lawman, she supposes, but she wants his eyes back on her.

Impishly, she picks up the hat and puts it on. She has to tip it way back on her head so that it won't slide down and cover her eyes. She's sure she looks ridiculous but he doesn't laugh when he finally looks at her.

"Nice hat," he says. The boyish grin is back.

She giggles. God. That's the whiskey. She sounds like a smitten schoolgirl. This is silly. She reaches up to take the hat off.

"Leave it on," he says. She meets his gaze and swallows hard. His eyes are bottomless. He reaches across the table and takes her hand, touching her for the first time. "Let's get out of here."

She nods, unexpectedly unable to form words.

His hand on the small of her back as they walk to the door feels like a branding.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They walk a half a block or so like that, his hand at her waist, one of hers grasping her purse, the other holding onto the hat so it doesn't either slide off the back of her head or down over her eyes.

She's not sure why she's expecting a pick-up truck, but she's surprised when he stops walking and they're beside a dark blue sedan of some type. She's never been good at cars. He unlocks it and holds the door for her to slide in. They don't speak on the drive, but at every stop he turns his head to smile at her. She smiles back.

His apartment isn't far. As they walk to the door, it registers somewhere in the back of her mind that for the first time ever she's going home with a man she just met in a bar. A man she doesn't know. A man who carries a gun. But none of that frightens her. He doesn't frighten her at all. He makes her feel eager and alive and somehow, surprisingly, safe.

To say the apartment is spartan would be gracious. There's a futon, a small end table with a lamp, a dilapidated recliner, and a television. He tosses his keys on the table and turns to her. "It's not much." He shrugs.

Her place is nicer, but she has a roommate with a steady boyfriend. "I've seen worse," she says. They're suddenly shy with each other. She kicks her shoes off and, out of habit, stoops to place them neatly side by side next to her purse.

Standing, she moves to take the hat off again, but this time he grabs her wrist gently and murmurs. "Leave it on." He takes a step and closes the space between them. One arm slips around her waist, pulling her close, and his mouth finds hers. His lips are soft and insistent and he tastes like whiskey and she wants the kiss to never end.

His long fingers begin to undo the buttons of her blouse and she has a fleeting moment of doubt, her mother's words about cows and free milk ringing in her head. Then the blouse slips from her shoulders and his hands are on her and she forgets she has a mother at all.

The zipper on her skirt is next. The silky fabric glides off her hips and pools at her feet. She steps out of it wearing nothing now but her practically nonexistent panties and a cowboy hat.

He stares at her and takes a ragged breath.

Emboldened by her nakedness, or his reaction to it, or maybe it's the hat, she gives him a push and he falls back onto the futon. She straddles him and gets busy with the buttons on his shirt. Her fingers fumble, and, impatient, he yanks the whole thing off over his head, pulling the undershirt along with it. Skin to skin he draws her into another kiss. He's good at this, or they're good together, and everything slows down for awhile as they discover each other.

Her hands roam his back and tangle in his hair as his mouth traces the hollow of her neck, her collarbone, her breast. Eventually he reaches for his belt and she raises her hips to make it easier for him to take off his jeans and boxers. There's nothing between them now but the thin span of her lacy underwear and he hooks his thumbs in each side and slides them off her hips. He reaches between them and guides himself inside her.

His eyes lock on hers and his hands hold her hips still, fingers digging in. She'll have bruises tomorrow but she doesn't care. She lowers her mouth to his.

"Don't move." He murmurs against her lips. "I need a minute." She smiles at his admission, his sudden vulnerability. He breathes deep, regaining control, and she rests against him until he loosens his grip and starts to move slowly. She matches his rhythm and there's nothing else in the world but this. At some point, later, she throws her head back and the hat slips off onto the floor.

He doesn't notice.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She wakes slowly, her eyes adjusting to the moonlight that seeps in through the thin blinds casting shadows on the quilt he's pulled over them. The warm, solid weight of him presses against her back, one long leg slung possessively over hers. She lies perfectly still for a moment, until the memory of the evening breaks through the fog in her head. Smiling, she stretches, running a foot along his calf until he responds. Long calloused fingers entwine with hers and he pulls her closer, planting a soft kiss on the back of her neck. She turns around toward him, brushing the hair from his face, meeting his eyes as he hitches one hand under her thigh sliding it over his hip and wordlessly pushes in, filling her.

She rocks her hips against him with each slow stroke, listening as his breathing becomes shallow and ragged. Heat spreads slowly through her, releasing her muscles, loosening her bones until it feels like he's the only thing keeping her from melting into a pool of liquid fire. She moans into his shoulder and they shudder together.

"You're beautiful." He whispers. He kisses her forehead, her cheek, her mouth. She lays her head on his chest and closes her eyes, drifting back into sleep. She hasn't even known him for twenty-four hours. She doesn't really _know _him at all. But he doesn't feel like a stranger. He feels like home.

Sometime later, consciousness arrives again, this time accompanied by an enticing aroma. The space beside her is empty. Sitting up, she grasps the quilt with one hand to cover herself and opens her eyes to see him perched on the edge of the bed. "Coffee?" He offers. The hat's on his head, and he's obviously been out and back while she slept. The elixir he holds is in a paper cup.

"God, yes," Sshe croaks, reaching for it. She closes her eyes and takes a sip. It's wonderful; black and rich with just a hint of sweetness. "Ummmm," she murmurs, smiling. "Perfect."

"I guessed."

"You guessed right, Cowboy."

He tips the hat and gives her the same boyish grin that pulled her in the night before. She can't help smiling back.

They sip the coffee in silence for a few moments and then he sets his down, tosses the hat on the table and stretches out on the bed beside her, hands behind his head.

"What time is it?" She asks.

He yawns. "About ten-thirty."

Her stomach growls in answer and he laughs. "You want to go get somethin' to eat?"

She glances at her skirt and blouse, lying in a wrinkled pile on the floor where they fell the night before. She won't be going anywhere in those. There's a change of clothes in her gym bag but it's in her car and her car is...

He's followed her gaze. "Ah. I could...take you home first to change."

She tells him about the gym bag and he suggests a shower while he goes to get it. She fishes the keys from her purse and describes the car. He shows her the bathroom and hunts down a clean towel. An hour later, her damp hair pulled back into a ponytail, they're sitting across from each other eating pancakes. She watches him, the same silly smile on her face, and he peers back at her from under the hat.

"What are you thinkin'?" He asks.

She blushes and shrugs. She's not sure what's happening or where this is headed so she keeps her answer simple. "I'm happy."

He raises an eyebrow. "You oughta be." There's a flash of that grin again and he reaches for her hand, squeezing it. "So am I."


	2. Chapter 2

They move through the next few weeks in a fog of desire.

She sleepwalks through work, efficient but not entirely present. She doubts she could remember a name or face from any of the court cases or depositions she reported from those days. The planes and angles of his face, the way his eyes change from green to blue to brown and back again, the flex of his muscles under her hands, the feel of _his_ hands on her...those are sharp and clear in her memory.

There's a constant buzz of arousal beneath her skin, itching to be released. Images flash in her mind at inopportune times sending her into erotic daydreams and she finds herself back in her office or halfway to the courtroom with no idea how she got there. After one overly long 'lunch hour' (which involves absolutely no food) causes her to arrive late and disheveled for a deposition and saddles him with an afternoon of paperwork as punishment for a forgotten meeting, they carefully avoid even calling each other during their work day.

They're both absentminded. One evening, she forgets her apartment keys and has to call Katie at the hospital to borrow hers. After the detour to fetch them, they arrive at her place, only to discover that he's left a report he needs to finish on his desk, so she tags along when he returns to pick it up.

The lights are still on in the office, and their entrance doesn't go unnoticed.

"So this is where all your attention has been." An impossibly tall, wide, bear of a man walks out of the inner office toward them. He flashes a grin from under a bushy mustache. The mustache, like the close-cropped hair on his head, is auburn tinged with grey. "I can see why she'd be distracting."

"Hey, Chief." He glances at his boss, and sideways at her, from under the brim of the hat. "This is Winona. Winona, this is Chief Marshal Chuck Paul."

"Call me Chuck," he says. His huge hand swallows hers. Raylan is tall, but this man towers at least six inches over him. Standing between them she feels positively Lilliputian, even in her heels.

"Sorry to break up this cozy little twosome," he says. "But I got a prisoner transfer out of Reno I need you on come Monday. Brett was going to go but Trina's due any day and I hate to send him out of town."

"Not a problem." Raylan says.

"Shouldn't be more than a day or two." Chuck smiles at her, and Winona wishes she didn't have to crane her neck to meet his gaze. "Think you can handle that?" He winks.

"I've been looking for a way to get rid of him." She deadpans. "I need some rest." Raylan tips his head down, hiding a grin and the Chief bursts out laughing.

"Givens, I think you may've met your match," he says, shaking his head. "She's a firecracker."

Raylan gives her a brief tour of the office, ending at his desk where he snags the folder he needs. Glancing around she notices that most of the other desks have personal items; framed family photographs, childishly painted rocks used as paper weights, one desk even has an odd ceramic figurine of a pig wearing a top hat. His desk is empty, save for a glass mug with some kind of inscription she can't read that serves to hold pens and pencils.

"Ready to go?" He asks, startling her. He's standing there holding the folder, looking at her curiously.

She takes one last look at the desk. It reminds her of his apartment. It could belong to anyone, there's no imprint, nothing personal. She wonders if it's possible to really know someone who keeps so much of himself hidden away.

She takes the hand he holds out to her and decides that she's going to try.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Her roommate is out of town so they're at her place tonight. Her bed with its smooth, cool sheets seems sinfully luxurious after the nights spent on the lumpy futon. They lay inches apart, facing each other, and she traces a jagged scar along his bicep with one finger and raises an eyebrow, questioning. He tells a story of an escaped fugitive, a foot-chase through a rail yard, and a shard of splintered wood wielded as a weapon. The story ends well, with the fugitive back in custody and nothing more than a few stitches and a tetanus booster for him, but it casts a shadow in her mind...a nudge of worry. But then he leans in to kiss her and she pushes the unpleasant thoughts away.

Later, she finds a scattering of small indentations on his hip that brings a laugh and a tale of a teenage prank and an angry neighbor with a scatter gun. "Took Helen almost three hours to dig the buckshot out of my ass. And she wasn't gentle, either."

They haven't talked about their families much at all, each intuitively sensing the other's reticence on the subject. But this seems a safe memory. "Who's Helen?" She asks.

"My aunt." He closes his eyes, not offering anything more, leaving her wondering again about his mother, whom he's never mentioned, and his father, whom he only refers to as 'Arlo'. The tone he uses when he speaks the name suggests the relationship is not a good one. She understands already that quizzing him only makes him less likely to open up. Better to listen carefully and weave some kind of picture from the bits and pieces.

The next night he lies on his stomach in her bed and she straddles him as she rubs his shoulders. There's another scar, old and faded, two thin lines stretching diagonally down across his spine, ending at his hip. It looks vaguely familiar, and she cringes recalling pictures shown in court of the back of a child who'd been whipped. She kneads the muscles with her thumbs, feeling his tension ease. "What happened here?" She runs her hand along the mark.

He doesn't answer and she wonders if he's fallen asleep. She raises up, leaning down to look at his face. "Raylan...did someone..." Before she can finish her question he grasps her hips and turns over. She's still straddling him, but now in a much more provocative position. It's distracting, to say the least, but still she's determined to get an answer.

"What happened to you, Raylan?" She keeps her voice soft. Low. Careful.

His jaw tightens and he shifts his gaze away from hers. "Arlo." He says, as if that says everything, and, maybe it does.

_Oh, Raylan. _She thinks. She lowers her hips, taking him in, flattening herself against him, covering his mouth with hers, offering the only comfort she knows he'll accept.


	3. Chapter 3

-o-o-O-o-o-

Monday morning she leans up on one elbow with the quilt tucked around her and watches him pack his bag. He packs light; socks, boxers, a clean shirt. He disappears into the bathroom and returns tying his tie. He bends down to kiss her and she grabs it, keeping his mouth on hers, teasing his lips open with her tongue. He tastes like toothpaste. He braces himself with one knee on the bed and slips a hand beneath the quilt, fondling her.

"Mmmmm." She murmurs.

"I gotta go," he says, but his thumb continues stroking and he leans in closer.

"I know," she says, reaching for his belt.

He backs out of reach, pulling the quilt all the way off, and his eyes travel slowly down her body. It feels incredibly wicked to be lying here naked while he remains fully clothed. She looks up at him and bites her bottom lip. "I'm going to miss you," she says.

"It's just a couple of days,"

Curling a finger, she beckons and he lowers his mouth to her breast, making her gasp. She loosens his belt and tugs the jeans down over his hips. She opens her legs to him and he pushes in with a groan. "God," he breathes in her ear. "I can't get enough of you."

She answers him with a deep kiss and a thrust of her hips.

After, he rolls off, staring at the ceiling, breathing hard. "Shit. I'm gonna be late."

She giggles. "You better get goin' then, Cowboy."

He stands, buckling his belt, looking down at her with a half-smile on his face. "I ..." he starts, then his face reddens and he swipes a hand across his mouth. "I'll call you if I can. Otherwise, I'll see you on Wednesday night." Shrugging into his jacket, he pulls a key off his key ring and hands it to her. "You can stay here while I'm gone, if you want." He looks as if that would please him, so she nods.

"Lock up when you leave, okay?"

"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that." She rolls her eyes. "I'd hate for someone to steal all your nice stuff."

He swats at her with the pillow, then gives her a quick kiss, grabs the hat, and he's gone.

-o-o-O-o-o-

She stays at his place because she said she would, and besides, Katie is working the night shift at the hospital, so she'd be alone wherever she was. At least here she feels close to him. She doesn't intend to snoop. Not really. After Raylan calls very late, waking her up, she can't get back to sleep. Wandering into the bathroom she finds the shirt he wore yesterday hanging on the door and slips it on, rolling up the sleeves. She turns her face to the collar and breathes him in.

There's a chest of drawers pushed into a corner of the bathroom. Curious, she tugs the top drawer open to find neatly folded undershirts and a stack of envelopes. She turns the top one over and peers at the return address. _Givens _with a route number and a Harlan, Kentucky address. It's dated less than a month ago and slit open neatly at the top.

She holds it for a moment, considering , then she picks up the stack and leafs through them one at a time. All the envelopes are from the same address, in intervals of about three weeks and they're all written in the same neat half-print/half-script. She replaces the stack, keeping the first letter she found.

Gingerly, she draws the paper out and unfolds it. It's a single page, back and front, and the signature simply reads _Love, Helen._ His aunt. The one who dug the buckshot out. Guiltily she turns to the beginning of the letter. She scans the first paragraph, then, conscience stricken, folds the letter and replaces it in the envelope, setting it back on top of the stack and closing the drawer.

She slides the second drawer open. There's a square frame face down on top of a folded sweatshirt. She expects a picture but when she turns it over it's a certificate for 'Excellent Marksmanship". It's signed and dated five years ago. The third drawer is empty and the last drawer holds only an empty gun case, three boxes of bullets, and the gun cleaning kit she's already seen him use several times.

She gets herself a beer from the fridge and flops on the bed with a sigh. So much for investigating. He's as much an enigma as he was an hour ago.


	4. Chapter 4

-o-o-O-o-o-

It's late on a Friday evening and the whole weekend stretches before them. She's lying on the couch, one knee pulled up, her other foot resting on his leg. There's a beer in his hand and a baseball game on television and he's as completely relaxed as she's ever seen him.

She pokes his leg with her foot. "Ask me a question," she says.

"Huh?" He startles, and turns to look at her.

"You ask me something, then I get to ask you something," she grins at him, keeping it light. No need to alert him that she's on a mission.

"Uh...o-kay." He takes a long drink of his beer, stalling. He glances back at the game. "What's your favorite color?"

She laughs. "Lame. It's blue. But you can do better than that." She looks at him. "What was your favorite subject in school?"

"Recess."

"Ha ha. High school, smartass."

"History, I guess. I wasn't much of a student."

"But you're smart."

"Yeah, that's what my teachers said on my report cards. '_Raylan is_ _smart but he lacks motivation_'."

"Did you play sports?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Isn't it my turn?"

"Sorry, yeah, go ahead." She grabs his empty bottle, and goes to the kitchen coming back with two more. He twists the caps off and hands one back to her, looking her up and down appreciatively.

"You a cheerleader?"

"God, no," she laughs. "My sister was." It's said without thinking and she's as surprised by it as he is.

"You got a sister?"

"My question," she chides him. She takes a long pull from the beer and tries to keep her heart from pounding.

He stares at her, eyes narrowing. "I played baseball," he says, flat. "You've never mentioned a sister."

She wants to remind him that he's hardly mentioned his family at all, but maybe opening herself up to him will get her something in return. She hugs her knees to her chest. "She died," she says, quietly. "In a car accident when I was fifteen. She was three years older than me."

His eyes are soft on her face but he doesn't try to touch her and for once she's glad.

"What was her name?"

"Valerie." She looks up at him. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, I woulda told..."

"Raylan," she interrupts. "You don't tell me anything."

He snorts. "Well, evidently I'm not the only one keepin' secrets."

"She's not a secret," Winona protests. "I just don't like talking about her."

"Well, there's a lot I don't like talkin' about." He tips the bottle back, finishing it off.

She rests her chin on her knees. "Yeah, that's obvious."

They sit on opposite ends of the couch. The game's ended and the news is on. The room is silent except for the low tones of the reporter's voice. The silence drags on and she wonders if they've reached some kind of chasm impossible to cross.

"My mother's dead," he says, after a few minutes. "Five years ago. She'd been sick for a while. Helen married Arlo about two years ago."

"I thought Helen was your aunt."

"She's my mother's sister."

"Ah." There's more silence. She swallows hard. "Valerie was with her boyfriend, Mark, and another friend of his. They took a curve in the road too fast and went off the side and hit a tree. They told us she died instantly. The other boy died at the hospital. Mark was the only one who survived. They'd just graduated from high school the week before. Valerie was going to go to UK."

She doesn't tell him all of it. How the whole town, including her parents, sanctified the two dead teenagers and vilified Mark. How she reached out to comfort him. How that unlikely friendship anchored them both in those first few months and then became something more. How the first time she ever made love with a boy, he was whispering her dead sister's name.

"Mama just lost interest in everything after." _Especially me, _she thinks_. _"Daddy just worked more. And they both drank more. Daddy's stopped, but Mama..." She closes her eyes. "The day I left Kentucky Valerie's room still looked the exactly the way it did the day she died. The whole damn house is a shrine."

"I'm sorry," he says, soft.

"Me, too."

He holds his hand out to her, palm up, and she scoots closer, linking her fingers through his. They're quiet again, but this time the silence is comfortable, the chasm breached.

"Arlo beat the crap out of my mother and me." He sighs. "Every once in awhile he'd get thrown in jail for somethin' else and we'd get a break. Helen tried to talk my mama into leavin' him, but she wouldn't or couldn't. Arlo can be charming when he wants to be. So, Helen would come get me, take me to her house, just to get me out of there for a day or two. Then when I was older, she gave me the money to get out of Harlan for good. No idea where she got it."

Winona cocks her head. "And then she up and married him? Didn't that make you angry?"

There's a twitch at his jaw and he puffs out a breath. "Yeah, well, like I said, Arlo can be charming. And I imagine he played up the grieving husband angle." He squeezes her hand. "I'm tired. Let's go to bed."

In the bedroom, while he slips out of his clothes, she reaches up on the shelf and pulls out a leather-covered album. She flips through until she finds the page she's looking for and runs a finger over the surface, as if she can touch the past. "Here," she says, handing it to him. "That's her graduation."

He sits on the bed and she eases down beside him. In the photo, Valerie, in cap and gown, has her arms around Winona. Both beam at the camera. "Wow, you really looked alike," he notes.

She nods. "She was taller. And her hair was darker than mine. It's hard to tell in this picture."

"You look happy."

"We were," she says. "And then we weren't."

He closes the album and sets it down on the nightstand. "I think that's enough memories for one night, don't you?" He turns the covers down and slides in.

She slips out of her jeans, dropping them on the floor and crawls in beside him. He opens his arms and she lays her head on his chest. He runs his fingers through her hair. "You sleepy?"

She smiles. "I thought _you_ were tired." She lets her fingers tease at the waistband of his boxers.

"Not _that_ tired."

There's always been a connection, since the first night they met, but tonight it feels different, as if sharing their brokenness has somehow made them wholly able to share themselves. At the end, she smiles up at him as he hovers above her and he holds her gaze. They don't need to say the words.


	5. Chapter 5

She's sipping a margarita and waiting for him at a Tex-Mex place a block from her apartment. He's late, which isn't all that unusual, and he hasn't called her cell phone, which also isn't unusual. Most of the time the kind of things that make him late also prevent making phone calls. Still, she's irritated. When he's an hour overdue, she orders take out – salad and tortilla soup for her, a pulled pork sandwich for him - and heads home. He'll know where to find her.

Winona eats the soup and salad at the kitchen counter, talking to Katie while she gets ready for work. "So where's Wyatt Earp tonight?" Katie asks with a smirk. She's proud of her nickname for him and Winona has to admit that Raylan seems to like it, too.

"Working," Winona says. She glances at the clock. He's awfully late. He'd spent last week on a witsec assignment, so they hadn't seen each other at all. They'd both been looking forward to tonight. She knew he had a prisoner transfer today, but it was only picking up a guy down at the state prison in Gunnison and bringing him back to CCM here. That's four hours, round trip, with another two for paperwork and incidental traffic...he should have called by now.

She goes from angry to worried and back again a half-dozen times. She tries watching television, but nothing holds her attention. She runs a bath, thinking to read in the tub, but she can't concentrate on the magazine she bought today. Curling up on the couch, she switches on the news. The next thing she knows the phone is ringing, jarring her from sleep. She rubs her eyes and glances at the clock. 1 a.m. "Hello?"

" 'Nona?" His voice is slurred. "Can you come an' get me?"

"Raylan? Where the hell are you?" There's a fumbling on the other end and a muffled 'Shit.' Then a woman's voice comes on the line.

"Double D's." The woman says. "Corner of Langley and Jefferson. You know where that is?"

"No," Winona admits.

There's a sigh of frustration. "Want me to put him in a cab?"

"No, just tell me how to get there." She writes down the directions and stumbles into the bedroom to put some clothes on.

Double D's is not in a part of town she's ever been to before, and she's nervous as she parks, locking the car carefully and glancing around as she walks quickly to the entrance, pulling the heavy door open. Inside, the lights are low, and it's the kind of place you wouldn't want to see in bright light anyway. Three men at the pool table near the door give her the once over as she walks in. Her eyes adjust and she spots the hat. He's sitting at the bar, an empty glass in front of him and something pressed to the side of his face. He doesn't look up, but the bartender's head swivels at the sound of the door closing.

Winona looks at the woman behind the bar in her tight white t-shirt and wonders if the place is named for her. "Looks like your girlfriend's here," the woman says. It's the voice from the phone.

His head barely moves.

"Raylan?" She walks up to him, leaning in. "Oh my God!" She gasps. "What happened to your face?" There's a cut on his lip, and when she pulls the hand holding the ice pack away, the eye is already swollen half-shut and his cheek is red and bruising. The knuckles on his right hand are scraped.

The bartender shakes her head; bleached blonde curls bouncing "He came in on a mission to piss someone off, and he picked the wrong guy." A snort. She swipes a rag across the bar. "I talked the other guy into leaving. He's a regular. I didn't want no trouble with a cop, so I let him stay. Cut him off an hour ago. Finally told him I was closin' and talked him into callin' someone."

"Come on," Winona says. She lays a hand on his shoulder and he looks up as if he's just realized she's there.

" 'Nona?" His good eye tries to focus on her face, then slides away.

"You think you can handle him?" The bartender asks, doubtful.

"Yes," she tells her. "Can you walk?" She can't keep the exasperation out of her voice.

"Um hmmm." He murmurs.

He shifts his weight toward her and she steps up beside him and pulls his arm across her shoulders, helping him slide down off the stool. Slowly, they make their way to the door. One of the pool players comes forward and opens it for them.

"Thanks," she says.

Keeping one arm around his waist, she fishes in her pocket for the car keys.

"I toldja you should always have 'em out. Not safe."

"I don't think you're in any position at the moment to be handing me advice about being 'safe'." She unlocks the door and helps him ease into the car. His hat falls off and she picks it up slapping it down on his lap.

"You mad?" He says. "Awww. Don' be mad."

She shuts the door without answering him.

The hat's back on his head, tipped down over his eyes, and he's leaned the seat back. He fidgets and she glances over. "Don't you get sick in my car," she warns.

"Not gonna get sick." He mutters, lifting the hat. "Not a lightweight."

She snorts and he replaces the hat. They're silent the rest of the drive.

Back at the apartment she helps him into the bedroom. He tosses his hat on the dresser and lies down on the bed with a groan. She tugs off one boot and then the other, setting them on the floor. He reaches for her, but she backs away. "You want the rest of your clothes off you're going to have to do it yourself."

"You don't wanna undress me?" He gives her a drunken grin.

"Not tonight." She goes into the bathroom and slips back into her pajamas in private. He's sound asleep by the time she crawls in beside him.

-o-o-O-o-o-

She's on her second cup of coffee by the time he staggers shirtless into the kitchen the next morning. It's almost eleven.

She sets the bottle of aspirin and a mug of coffee on the counter without a word.

"Thanks."

The crinkle of the newspaper as she turns the page is the only sound.

"You still mad?"

Another page is turned and she sighs, looking at him. The eye isn't as bad as she thought last night; it's open, at least. His cheek is bruised and one side of his mouth is swollen. "I'm not _mad _Raylan."

"You look mad," he notes.

"No, I don't," she protests.

"You sure ain't smilin'."

"I waited for you," she says. "You didn't come. You didn't call. I was worried."

"I'm sorry." He gets a point for looking hangdog.

"What were you doing there? Why didn't you meet me?" She puts the paper down. "Why'd you get into a fight, Raylan? The lady at the bar said you came in looking for one."

He shrugs. He takes a sip of coffee and swallows three of the aspirin. "I'm sorry," he says again.

That's not an explanation, and something occurs to her. "You don't know why, do you?"

His shoulders slump. He looks down into his coffee, hair falling over his black eye, and doesn't answer.

She can't stay mad at him. Reaching out she touches his bruised cheek gently. "That hurt?"

"I've had worse."

"I imagine you have." She stands and wraps her arms around him, tucking her head under his chin. "Don't stand me up again, okay? Just call. Please?"

"Okay." He brushes a kiss on the top of her head and tips her chin up to kiss her mouth.

She stops him with a hand pressed to his lips. "You smell like a liquor store. Go brush your teeth...maybe a shower. Then we'll talk about a kiss, Cowboy."


	6. Chapter 6

Winona approaches the circle of wives and girlfriends cautiously. Groups of women make her nervous. Valerie always had a gaggle of girlfriends trailing her around and sometimes she'd include Winona. Left to herself though, she preferred one best friend to the point that her sister had christened her 'one-friend-Winona'. The nickname held true into adulthood, especially without Valerie around to push her into broadening her social circle.

Sure enough, the talking stops when she reaches them and eight unfamiliar faces look up at her expectantly. She clutches the beer in one hand and twists the skirt of her sundress in the other like a timid schoolgirl.

"Sit here by me," a woman with a tiny baby strapped to her chest and gorgeous red hair pulled haphazardly into a twist on top of her head smiles up at her. Her face is spackled with freckles. "You're Raylan's girlfriend, right? I'm Trina, and this is Madeline." She lifts the cloth to reveal a sleeping face topped with downy fuzz as red as her own. "Brett's my husband." She points to a dark-haired man, shorter than Raylan, with the compact build of a wrestler.

"Thanks." She eases down into the low chair and the others resume their chatter. "I'm Winona."

"Nice to meet you, Winona." Trina has an open face and an easy smile. Winona likes her right away.

They're in the Chief Deputy's massive backyard at his annual summer barbeque. Winona was shocked at the size of the house when they'd pulled into the long drive.

"His wife is from some money, I guess," Raylan said by way of explanation. "Besides, when you have six kids, you need a big house."

The Chief's kids range in age from fourteen to two, and along with the children of the other marshals and guests, they're all running around the yard, jumping on the trampoline, and chasing three or four barking dogs of different sizes. It's a cacophony of shouting and laughter.

The adults are huddled in groups, predictably segregated by gender. The one female marshal at the office who might have broken the pattern is hospitalized with appendicitis.

"Brett tells me you're a court reporter," Trina says, making conversation. "That must be interesting."

"It is," she says. "I like it a lot."

"You sound like Raylan. Are you from Kentucky, too?"

"Yes."

"You two know each other back home?"

"No," Winona says. "No, we didn't."

"Quite a coincidence meeting up all the way out here, huh?" Trina smiles broadly. "Or fate."

Fate. She'll have to think about that. Winona looks up and catches Raylan's eye. He holds up his beer and one eyebrow rises in question. She nods, and moments later, another ice-cold beer is dangled in front of her.

"Hi, Trina," Raylan says.

"Raylan." She lifts the cloth again. This time the baby's eyes are open, wide and blue. "Meet Madeline," she says.

"Gorgeous like her mama." Trina beams her thanks. His hand rests on Winona's shoulder and she wonders what he's thinking. Does he want kids? Does he even _like _kids? They've talked about the future about as much as they've discussed the past. Living in the now has its benefits, but there's an awful lot she doesn't know about what he wants from life.

"Hey, Raylan!" The Chief calls. "Come're."

"Boss is callin'," he says, squeezing her shoulder. "I'll be back." She watches him walk away.

Brett comes over next and sits in front of Trina, holding his arms out for the baby. Trina extricates the child from the sling and hands her over. "Chuck's got a shooting range at the back of his property and he's set up a little competition," he tells the two women.

"You aren't shooting?" Winona asks.

Brett laughs. "Nope, I just bet on Raylan. He's won the last two years. No one here's gonna beat him, least of all me." He considers for a moment. "Chuck could; _maybe_, on a good day. You ever seen him shoot?"

"He's dragged me to the range a couple of times," Winona says. "He's taken some shots, but he's mostly just trying to teach _me _how to shoot." She laughs. "That's not working out so well."

"You should go watch...cheer him on," Brett suggests.

Trina pushes up. "Come on, let's all go watch." Winona smiles, grateful for the company, and the trio walk together to the makeshift range at the back of the yard.

Brett is right. Raylan wins easily. No one even comes close. It's an impressive display, and makes her more than a little embarrassed at her own ineptitude at the range. She resolves to pay less attention to the way he positions himself behind her and more attention to his instructions the next time he takes her.

Laughing, Raylan accepts congratulations and a stack of bills from the few who bet against him. Chuck's wife, Laurel, hollers from the porch that it's time to eat and the crowd starts to move. He swings an arm around her as they walk back toward the house. "You havin' fun?" He asks.

"Yes," she says, meaning it. "Trina's nice."

"Yeah, she is. Brett's a good guy, too."

They fill their plates and Raylan looks around for a free spot at one of the tables. Brett waves them over, and they squeeze in. Food has brought the kids' games to a halt, and there's a red-headed boy of about four wedged between Brett and Trina on the bench. He stares at Winona.

"You're pretty," he says, through a mouth full of hot dog. "I'm Walt."

"Thank you. It's nice to meet you, Walt." She smiles and gets a ketchup-y grin in return.

Raylan laughs. "He's a ladies man already, Brett?

Rolling his eyes, Brett nods. "I can't wait till he's a teenager. He's already got three 'girlfriends' in his preschool class."

"It's his father's charm combined with the red hair," Trina says. "A rare and beautiful thing."

"You bet, Baby." Brett leans over and kisses her cheek.

They eat and talk and laugh. Walt, bored with adult conversation, wanders off to play again leaving half his food untouched. The baby, who slept all through dinner, wakes fussy and Trina wanders off into the house to find a quiet place to nurse, leaving Winona on her own with the men. She listens to the conversation, answering the occasional question directed at her and sipping her beer. Walt wanders back, tired. Not spotting his mother, he gives Winona a silent once over and climbs into her lap, one thumb finding its way to his mouth as he settles back against her.

"Here. I'll take him. Sorry about that," Brett says.

"That's okay," she says. "He's fine." She smiles at him over the top of the boy's head.

The hand not in Walt's mouth takes hold of a strand of her hair, twisting it in his fingers as he sinks into sleep. She puts one arm around the child so he doesn't slide off. He's warm and heavy in her lap and the weight of him combined with the dusk settling in the yard makes her drowsy. Her eyes close, just for a moment, and when she opens them, Raylan is looking at her, an odd smile on his face. She smiles back.

She drives them home later, since on top of the beer the Chief brought out the bourbon to salute Raylan's marksmanship. Raylan isn't drunk, but he's pleasantly buzzed, leaning back in the passenger seat, one hand resting on her leg.

"My place or yours?" She asks as she approaches the turn.

"Yours is closer. Is Katie home?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Yours, then," he says. "More comfortable."

"You could get a real bed, you know."

"Why? I've got yours," he squeezes her leg and she laughs.

She expects his hands on her as soon as they're in the door, and he does turn her around to face him, but he isn't kissing, or groping, or trying to undress her, he's just looking at her with that same odd smile from the barbeque.

"I love you," he says.

Her mouth goes dry, her tongue thick. Her heart is pounding in her chest. He's still smiling at her, and evidently the look on her face tells him what she can't because he kisses her, his mouth soft and warm on hers. She pulls back, her hands on his face, feeling the stubble beneath her fingers. He's the most conflicted, confusing, complicated man she's ever met. "I love you, too," she murmurs, thinking; _God help me. God help us both._


	7. Chapter 7

She watches him sleep. His face is lineless and relaxed. He's spread out on his back, one arm splayed out, the other tucked under his the pillow. He takes up most of her bed this way.

Leaning over him, she plants a soft kiss on the vein that throbs in his neck and works her way down, pulling the sheet off as she goes. She trails kisses down his breastbone and across the concaves of his stomach. He's stirring now, his fingers feather light on her back. She reaches for him, stroking before drawing him in, working him with her mouth and tongue. He makes a hoarse noise of pleasure and one broad hand pushes the hair back from her face. She feels his eyes on her, and it spurs her on.

She doesn't understand why some women find this distasteful or degrading. To her, it seems to be an act of trust on his part, the ultimate vulnerability, and she enjoys the feeling of power and control. She traces the curve of his hip with her fingers, sliding her thumb along the muscle that runs there, feeling him shiver. He's breathing hard now, and she slows her rhythm, letting him decide what he wants. More often than not, he'll tug on her hair and she'll move up and take him in, riding it out. This morning, though, he keeps his hand flat against her head and so she continues, taking in as much of him as she can.

"Oh, God. 'Nona," he murmurs finally, his hand clutching her hair. The rest is an unintelligible groan.

After a moment, she lifts her head and smiles at him. "Good morning."

"Yeah," he grins back at her. "It is." He reaches for her, pulling her up to nestle against him. "But shouldn't _I _be the one giving _you _a present?"

She turns her face up to his, eyes wide. "How did you know?"

"Katie, told me." he says. "Happy Birthday." He gives her a kiss. "You got plans for after work?"

"I don't know," she teases. "Do I?"

"I'll pick you up at seven."

"What should I wear?"

"More than you've got on now," he grins at her.

-o-o-O-o-o-

He looks at her in the dim light of the restaurant. She's holding the wine glass in her hand, twisting the stem between her fingers with a half smile on her face. The dessert plate is on the table between them, empty save for their two forks, some crumbs of chocolate, and the candle the waiter had gladly provided to add to the celebration.

"This is the best birthday I've had in a long time," she says. "Thank you."

"Well, there's one more thing." He slips the flat box out of his pocket and slides it across the table.

"A present, too?" She laughs. She fingers the box first, turning it over, shaking it lightly. The action is childlike and endearing. The ribbon slips off and she slits the paper carefully where it's taped to the box. She looks up at him with those wide blue eyes before she snaps the lid open.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" She holds up the delicate gold chain and lets the circle rest on her hand. Peering at it closely she asks, "What does the symbol mean?"

He shrugs lightly. "I'm not sure. I just thought it was pretty. The lady in the store said it was Sanskrit." He hadn't been shopping. He hadn't even known about Winona's birthday at that point. He'd gone in to the jewelry store to talk to the woman about her brother, a fugitive the marshals were looking for. She claimed not to know where he was. Raylan suspected she was lying, so when the necklace caught his eye, he let her talk him into buying it. In the end, while she was wrapping the box, she reluctantly gave him a phone number for her brother's ex, which eventually led to his arrest. It had been a good day, all around.

"I love it," she says, reaching around to put it on. It rests right below her collarbone, catching the light from the candles. She reaches across the table and puts her hand on his. He turns it over, rubbing his thumb across her palm.

She takes a long sip of wine, and gazes at him over the rim of the glass. "I think we should go home so I can thank you properly."

"Oh, no. It's still your birthday," he says. "Besides, you already thanked me this morning." She blushes and looks down. He shifts in his chair with the memory of her wake-up call. "But I do think going home is a _really _good idea."

-o-o-O-o-o-

They've left a trail of clothing from the door into the bedroom. He's down to nothing, but she's still wearing her bra and panties. They're red and lacy, and he seems to like them a lot. She falls back onto the bed and leans up on her elbows, giving him the full view.

He bends over her, tracing her neck with his mouth, working lower as one hand fumbles with the clasp at her back. It's not cooperating, and after a moment he gives up and sucks hard at her breast through the lace, making her gasp.

He trails kisses across her ribcage, down the flat plain of her stomach and lower. She trembles as he runs his hand along her thigh, deft fingers rolling her panties down. She kicks them aside, throwing one leg over his back, as his fingers open her. The first flick of his tongue sends an electric rush straight to her gut. Her fingers thread into his hair, tugging gently, urging him on. Her hips arch up and he lays one arm flat across her stomach, pressing down, holding her still. She comes almost immediately.

He inches his way back up grinning at her, inordinately pleased with himself. "Happy?"

"Very," she says. She lets her leg slip down around his waist, pulling him to her, rising up to take him in.

He buries his face in the curve of her shoulder, whiskers scratching the soft skin. He thrusts, long and slow. "Happy birthday," he murmurs. She shifts position to take more of him in, pulling his mouth to hers, breathing with him as he convulses inside her.

They lie together after, her head on his shoulder, legs entwined. "I love you," she says it first this time, with no hesitation, and she doesn't have to look at him to know he's smiling when he answers in kind.


	8. Chapter 8

She's aware that the scars from Arlo aren't just on his back. Besides the night he stood her up, there have been other clues to the anger that he holds just beneath the surface. Once when another car cut them off in traffic, his hands grew tight and white on the wheel and she felt the control it took for him not to chase the driver down and berate them for putting others at risk with their impatience and stupidity. Another time he'd had a bit too much to drink and barely held his temper with an incredibly rude waiter. But she'd never actually _seen_ him unable to keep it in check.

The first glimpse of this darker side comes, oddly enough, in the same bar where they met. She's nursing an after work drink and waiting for him when the guy approaches. This isn't anything new. She isn't arrogant, but she knows she's attractive enough to draw men's attention and she's used to putting on an air of polite disinterest until they get the message and leave her alone. Tonight, however, this one is just drunk or oblivious enough to be persistent. He's tall and blonde and seems to think she's really missing out not taking him up on his offer of companionship.

"I'm meeting someone," she says for the third or fourth time. Her eyes sweep the front of the bar hopefully, but there's no sign of Raylan.

"Well, he doesn't seem to be here. I sure wouldn't leave a pretty woman like you alone." The man shifts his weight, leaning on the bar, effectively closing her off to the rest of the room. He's wearing way too much cologne and she feels claustrophobic.

She glances up again and sighs with relief when she sees the hat come in the door. _Thank God._ "Here he is now," she says, smiling.

The man's first mistake is staying put after her announcement of Raylan's arrival, his second is laughing at the hat. "This cow_boy_ is what you've been waiting for? Really?" Another chuckle.

A sharp retort is on the tip of her tongue when Raylan interrupts.

"You botherin' this lady?" There's a twitch at his jaw. "I believe she asked you to leave her alone. She's with me."

"Well now, you weren't here, were you? We were having a nice conversation." He says.

"It doesn't look like that to me." Raylan sweeps his hand back to his hip, exposing the sidearm and his badge.

"So what? You gonna arrest me?" He takes a step forward.

Winona puts a hand on Raylan's arm to try to diffuse the situation but he shrugs it off. The air tingles with tension. This guy isn't backing down, and neither is Raylan. If this were a cartoon, she imagines there would be smoke coming from Raylan's ears at this point.

"Let's just get out of here, Honey," she tries again.

The other man leans in and says something to him that she can't hear. She hears Raylan's response just fine.

"Are you a professional asshole or do you just do it for fun?"

She doesn't see the guy's arm move, but evidently Raylan does because the second the fist connects with his jaw he delivers a blow to the man's solar plexus and then an uppercut to his chin as he doubles over, collapsing to the floor. The lady on the other side of Winona screams and other patrons scurry out of the way.

"That'll be enough." The bartender comes around front wielding a baseball bat. "I think you all better just leave. I know you come in here quite a bit and I appreciate your business, but I don't want any trouble. Go on now."

Embarrassed beyond words, Winona snatches her purse off the bar and walks quickly out the door. Raylan's tight on her heels, rubbing his jaw with one hand.

"Hey," he grabs at her elbow and she swings around, eyes shooting daggers.

"I was handling him." She fumes. "I can take care of myself. That...that was embarrassing!"

"Embarrassing?" He huffs out a breath of frustration. "I was tryin' to help."

"I could have taken care of it, Raylan," she says. "You didn't have to _hit _him."

"He hit me first."

"Yeah, after you goaded him into it," she snorts. "I could have taken care of it myself," she repeats.

"Well, evidently you hadn't tried hard enough to 'take care of it' before I got there." One hand is on his hip and he's staring at her accusingly.

"What? You think I...? _You're _the asshole, you know that?" She reaches in her purse for her keys. "I'm going home. Don't follow me. I don't want to see you tonight." She walks away and doesn't look back.

-o-o-O-o-o-

_Goddamnit. _He watches her walk away and cringes inwardly when he hears the car door slam. _Shit._

He considers going back in and finishing the job, or waiting for the guy to come out, but the adrenaline rush is gone and it seems like a waste of time. He could go home, but the idea of facing his empty apartment isn't appealing. There's plenty of paperwork waiting on his desk, though, so he walks the three blocks back to the courthouse.

"Thought you were meeting Winona," Brett says when he steps off the elevator.

"Uh, yeah, that didn't work out." He keeps his head low, under the hat, partially to avoid the conversation and partially to hide what's certainly a mark on his jaw.

Brett swings his feet up on his desk. "What happened?"

Raylan gives up and tosses the hat on the desk with a disgusted sigh. "I guess I acted like an ass."

"So what else is new?" Brett snorts a laugh.

Raylan tells him the story. Brett shakes his head. "Well, she said she didn't want to _see _you. You could always call her. Later," he advises. "Give her a chance to cool down." He puts his feet down and arranges the folders on his cluttered desk into a somewhat neat stack. "You hungry?"

"I could eat, I guess."

"Trina took the kids to her folks, so I'm bach-ing it tonight. Let's go to Foghorn's and get some wings; have a beer or two. Maybe there's a game on."

It's better than paperwork or an empty apartment. "Sure. Why not?"

Later, driving home, he punches Winona's number into his cell. It rings, but she doesn't answer. He tries the apartment number and Katie picks up on the first ring.

"Hey, Katie, is Winona there?"

"I thought she was with you."

"She didn't come home?"

"Not since I've been here." He hears Katie's heels as she walks through the apartment. "Doesn't look like she's been home." He hears the refrigerator open. "Why isn't she with you?"

Now there's crunching. Katie has a habit of eating while she's talking, in person or on the phone. He guesses it comes from having to grab whatever she can on the run at the hospital, but it's still annoying. And where the hell is Winona?

"We...um, well, let's just say she wasn't happy when she left."

Katie laughs. "I know where she is then."

"Where?"

"At the mall. Retail therapy. Shoes, most likely."

"Why? Never mind," he says. "Can you tell her I..."

Katie interrupts. "Here she is now. Yep. She was shopping. Just a minute." Katie's hand must be over the phone because the voices are muffled. "Hold on a minute, Raylan, okay?"

"Sure." More muffled voices. Then Katie. "I'm not picking up the phone again, so unless you want him to sit there all night you're gonna have to talk to him."

There's an exasperated sigh. "Hello."

"You buy shoes when you're upset?"

Nothing. Then another sigh. "Yes, I bought shoes."

"What're they like?"

"Raylan, stop pretending you care about my shoes." He can tell she still isn't happy, but she doesn't sound quite as annoyed.

"Okay," he says. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I didn't call _you_, remember? _You_ called _me_. What did _you _want to talk about?"

"I went back to the office to do some work and ran into Brett. He invited us over Friday night. Said they'd throw some steaks on the grill. I told him it sounded good if you were speaking to me by then."

"That depends," she says. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?"

He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I lost my temper."

"Raylan, sometimes I worry about you."

There's something in her voice that worries _him_. He bites back the defensive retort that's on the tip of his tongue and doesn't say anything. Silence stretches between them.

"I'm tired," she says finally. It sounds like the truth. "I'm going to take a bath and go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay," he says. "Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."


	9. Chapter 9

Brett and Trina live on a quiet tree-lined street in one of the older suburbs of Salt Lake. The front of the house looks small, but once inside, it opens up to a large kitchen and family room that stretches across the back. French doors in the kitchen open to a fenced in backyard with a small deck and a swing set.

Trina gives them a short tour; then excuses herself to open the bottle of wine they brought.

The baby is sleeping and Walt is already in his pajamas, sitting on the floor in the middle of a menagerie of miniature cars and trucks. He leaps to his feet when they enter. Totally ignoring Winona, he grabs Raylan's hand and pulls at him. "You can have the police car," he says. "But I get the fire truck."

"Hey Buddy," Brett says from the doorway. "Remember you always let your guest choose first." He gives Raylan a wink.

Walt glances down, heaves a disappointed sigh and looks back at Raylan. "You can have the fire truck if you want."

"That's okay, I'd rather have the police car. Or the tractor," he says, squatting down. "I like the tractor."

Winona sits on the couch and watches. Walt directs the action, obviously pleased to have someone to boss around. To his credit, Raylan manages to keep a straight face through it all, although he studiously avoids looking her way.

Trina comes back in with a glass of wine for Winona and a beer for Raylan. "I see he's commandeered you into playing with him," she laughs. "Five minutes, kiddo. Time for bed."

Five minutes stretches into fifteen, but eventually Walt is in bed and Raylan accepts another beer and wanders out to the deck where Brett is grilling. Winona follows Trina out to the kitchen. "Have a seat," Trina says.

"Can I help with anything?" She perches on a stool, glancing around the room.

"I've got it all under control, thanks." Trina says. "Baked potatoes and salad. No big deal."

Winona peers out the window. Raylan is talking animatedly with his hands and Brett is nodding in agreement. "What do you suppose they're talking about?"

"Work," Trina says. "No doubt. That's all they ever talk about."

"Does Brett ever talk to you about work?" She swirls the rest of the wine in her glass and finishes it.

"Not often," Trina says. She refills Winona's glass and pours another for herself.

"Does it bother you?"

Trina shrugs. "It used to. Now we've got other things to talk about." She grins at Winona. "So how long have you two been dating?"

"Three months or so."

Trina raises an eyebrow. "I would've thought longer. You seem real comfortable with each other."

"It seems like it to me sometimes, too," Winona says.

"Fate," Trina says. She pours more wine. "Some things are meant to be."

Winona tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugs. "You believe in that?"

"Fate, destiny, God's providence?" Trina says. "Sure. I don't think things happen by accident. Something brought you two together."

Winona ponders that. "Maybe...but..."

"Sometimes things just feel _right_," Trina says. "You just _know_ you're supposed to be right where you are, with who you're with. That's what I'm talking about. You feel like you've known him forever, don't you?"

She doesn't let on to Trina how close she is to the truth. "Raylan's hard to _know_. He's complicated."

A laugh. "Men aren't complicated," Trina says. "Food, sex, sleep. Repeat. That's all you need to know."

Winona laughs and glances out the window again. They're still talking. She's never seen Raylan talk this much. "Work. You forgot work."

"Okay. Food, sex, work, sleep."

They both laugh and Trina reaches into a cupboard for a second bottle of wine. She holds it up, eyebrows raised, questioning, and Winona nods.

"So," Trina says, concentrating on opening the bottle. "I'd bet he's pretty good at the sex part."

Blunt comments like that always surprise her, even though Katie's informed her that she's pretty blunt herself. She's never quite sure how to respond. She feels Trina's eyes on her and her face flushes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Trina grins.

"You girls ready to eat?" The French door opens and Brett sticks his head in. "Steaks are done."

Trina's set a table on the deck, and there are candles and flowers. Winona wonders when the woman finds the time with two small kids. The food is good and there's more wine for them. The guys stick to beer. The conversation has run the gamut from movies to Salt Lake politics but now Brett settles back in his chair and turns to Raylan. "So did you hear about that guy they caught in Tex..."

"Stop," Trina says. "No work talk. You talked about work the whole time you were cooking the steaks. If you can't think of anything to say just tell us what beautiful, vivacious, sexy women we are and how lucky you are to have us. We'd listen to that."

"All night." Winona agrees.

"_Too much wine," _Brett mouths to Raylan. Raylan, wisely, doesn't respond.


	10. Chapter 10

He glances over at her as they drive home. Her eyes are closed and there's a half-smile on her face.

"I'm not asleep," she says. "I'm not drunk, either."

That doesn't seem accurate to him, considering the two empty wine bottles on the table when they left Brent and Trina's.

She giggles. "Well, maybe I'm a little drunk." She giggles again.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing." She purses her lips together but another giggle escapes. He's never seen her like this.

"I'm glad you had a good time."

"I like Trina," she says. "She's easy to talk to. I told her you were a complicated man."

His eyes shift toward her. "Oh, yeah?" He's not sure if that's good or bad.

"Yeah." She's looking back at him now, mischievous. "She said men aren't all that complicated."

"Really?"

"She says all you need is food, sex, work, and sleep."

"In that order?"

She shrugs lightly and her mouth twists into a grin. "You tell me."

"Well, right _now..." _he says.

She leans over, one hand on his thigh, and glances at the speedometer. "You could drive a little faster, you know."

As she unlocks the door to the apartment, his cell phone buzzes. Surprised at a call this late, he pulls it out. "It's Chuck. I'd better take it."

"Okay," she says. She gives him a quick kiss on the mouth just as he answers and walks away, shrugging out of her blouse and letting it trail behind her. She looks back over her shoulder and gives him a wink. "I'll be waiting."

When he comes into the bedroom later she's rolled onto her side, facing away from the door. "Sorry, that took longer than I thought" The only answer is a soft snore. He laughs to himself as he undresses and slips in behind her, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in. She fits herself against him sleepily.

He rests for a while, holding her, listening to her breathe. Sleep refuses to come though, so he slides his hand down, fingers seeking the warmth between her thighs. "Ummmm," she murmurs. He strokes gently and she shifts with him, finding a rhythm. "Don't stop.". She hooks one foot over his calf, giving him better access. She turns her head and pulls his mouth to hers. "Yes...ohhhh, yes," she whispers just before she trembles, arching back against him.

She makes to turn to face him but he holds her still. "Stay right there," he says. He lifts her hair and kisses the back of her neck, sliding in from behind.

There's a soft laugh. "This is different." She turns her head again and he kisses her, holding on to her hips as they move together.

After, they stay spooned together, his head in the crook of her shoulder. "So, I'm _complicated_?" He says. "What's that mean?"

Her voice carries a note of laughter. "Have you been thinking about that the whole time?"

"Not the _whole _time."

"Don't worry, Cowboy," she says, linking her fingers through his. "Simple is boring. I like complictated just fine."


	11. Chapter 11

He's at his desk finishing a report and thinking about lunch when Chuck walks up and hands him a file. "Terry Lovell; sex offender, spent twelve years down at CUC for rape; pled down to sexual imposition- victim was a fifteen year old boy. He walked away from a halfway house two months ago. No sightings until today. He's been spotted in a diner off of Rt. 73 near Bluffdale." Chuck pauses, meeting Raylan's eyes. "He's got a kid with him. Take Brett. Locals are watching, but they won't move in unless he decides to leave. They're afraid of spookin' him, turnin' this into a hostage situation."

Brett reads the file in the car, occasionally huffing a breath. "God," he says as he slaps it shut. "There are some things I don't need to know. What the hell is wrong with people?"

"Some people just ain't right," Raylan says.

Raylan takes the exit off the main highway onto Rt. 73 and they both keep a look out for the diner. They almost miss it. It sits back from the road, and only half the sign is visible. The local sheriff's car is parked in a gravel-paved area behind some trees.

He speaks briefly to the deputy while Brett scans the parking lot for the fugitive's car. "He must have switched vehicles. DMV says that he's driving a 1992 Chevy Caprice, blue, but there's nothing here matching that."

"Keep an eye out," Raylan says to the deputy, whose name-tag reads 'Chip' and who looks about nineteen. "We're going in." The deputy swallows and nods, his hand resting on his gun.

"You think he's ever used that thing?" Brett asks as they walk toward the diner.

"I doubt it."

They enter the diner, showing their badges discreetly to the harried waitress manning the cash register. Her eyes go wide. Raylan puts a finger to his lips, and she nods. His eyes scan the room until he spots Lovell. He's at a back booth, reading the newspaper, a coffee cup in front of him. He looks perfectly ordinary. Brown hair; cut short, golf shirt, blue with white and green stripes. Across the table there's a blonde boy of about ten, shoveling food into his mouth as if he's afraid the plate will be snatched away at any second. Brett walks ahead, toward the booth, pretending to look for a place to sit. The boy looks up as he approaches and Raylan sees the other marshal smile and lift his jacket so the boy can see his badge. His back is to Lovell, and the man never looks up from his newspaper.

A dark-haired waitress carrying a full carafe of coffee passes Brett. He bumps her with his shoulder and the carafe slips from her hand, splashing coffee on the table and Lovell before crashing to the floor.

As Lovell jumps to his feet, shouting at the waitress, Brett bends over and says something to the boy, who scoots from the seat and makes to run. Lovell, evidently sensing he's about to lose control of the situation, pulls a knife from his pocket and slashes out at Brett, catching him in the upper arm. The waitress screams and Lovell grabs her, jerking her head back by her ponytail and holding the knife to her throat. The boy freezes and Brett tackles the kid, landing on top of him on the floor.

Raylan draws his gun as Lovell moves toward the door, shuffling, holding the waitress in front of him. The other diners instinctively slide back in their booths, some sliding to the floor, cowering under tables.

Later Raylan will replay all of this in slow motion. Later, he'll remember the speech the instructor gave years ago at Glynco telling them that any time they draw their weapon they have to be prepared to use it without hesitation. Later he'll think about what _could _have happened. But in real time it happens too fast to think.

Lovell nears the door, and as he reaches for the handle Raylan's eyes narrow, focusing in and he takes his shot, hitting him square in the chest. The knife clatters to the floor, followed by the waitress, who collapses in a heap next to the dying fugitive.

The door bursts open and Deputy Chip half-walks half-falls in, gun in hand, staring at Raylan. He takes one look at the blood smear on the wall and the crumpled body on the floor and throws up all over his shoes.

"Sorry about that," Chip says a few minutes later, accepting the glass of water Brett hands him.

He hands a second one to Raylan. "You okay?"

Raylan nods, not trusting his voice. He's trying not to look at the body, but his eyes keep sliding that direction. His stomach feels tight and the greasy smells of the diner are making him nauseous.

"Chuck's on his way, but the Sheriff'll beat him here," Brett says.

"Where's the kid?" Raylan asks.

"Waitress took him to the back. He's got a knot on his head where it hit the floor when I tackled him. She's getting some ice."

"You get his name?"

Brett looks down at his notes. "Jeremy Keiffer."

"I'll call that in," Deputy Chip says. "See if there's a missing persons on him." He's obviously happy to have something to do that will get him out of the diner. They can hear the sirens as he opens the door.

-o-o-O-o-o-

They're back in the office and Brett witnesses as Chuck takes Raylan's gun, sealing it in an evidence bag for the AUSA's investigation. He's already given his statement twice, to the sheriff and again to Chuck.

"It was a good shooting," the Chief says again. "All the witness reports and what Brett told us put you absolutely in the right. So don't worry about it."

"Thanks," Raylan says.

"The guy was scum," Brett adds. "He'd had that kid for three days. _Three days._ You saved that boy and saved the taxpayers money, too, the way I see it." He glances at his watch. "You wanna get a drink?"

"Nah, I don't think so. Think I'm just gonna go home."

"Okay, then," Brett slaps his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He sets the hat on his head and turns to follow Brett out the door. Chuck's voice stops him. "Raylan?"

"Yeah?"

"You need to talk to someone; we got people. Might be a good idea, this being your first shooting."

"Shot that guy last year when the transport went bad," Raylan reminds him.

"Yeah, in the leg." Chuck looks at him knowingly. "This is different."

"I'm fine," he says. "Guy didn't leave me any choice."

"No, no he didn't. But that doesn't mean it won't weigh on you. You let me know you need anything, okay?"

"Will do." He sits in his car for a long time before turning the key in the ignition and heading for home.


	12. Chapter 12

Katie heaves a sigh as she pulls the car into the parking lot. "I thought you said he wasn't coming over tonight," she says.

"Raylan?" Winona's fishing in her purse for a tissue and doesn't look up. "He isn't. He knew we had tickets to that concert. He said he was going to work late...catch up on paperwork."

"Well, he's here," Katie pulls in beside the sedan. "I'd appreciate it if you guys could knock it down a few decibels. I've got early call in the morning."

"Sorry," Winona says, embarrassed. "I didn't know..."

Katie holds up a hand to silence her. "Have you guys thought about just moving in together? Someplace with really thick walls?"

Katie's been in a bad mood all evening and now Winona snaps back. "You know, I'm sorry you and Greg aren't getting along, but you don't have to take it out on me. Maybe we'll just go to his place tonight."

"That might be a good idea," Katie says. She kills the engine, grabs her purse, and heads inside without saying hello to Raylan.

Winona comes up by the driver's door, leaning on the car, and he rolls down the window. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. I thought you weren't coming over tonight. Didn't you have work to do?" She says it with a smile, letting him know she doesn't mind.

He shrugs. "I wanted to see you."

Something in his face isn't right. She lays a hand on the window frame and bends down to his eye level. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Raylan?"

"Really."

She doesn't believe him at all, but she lets it go for now.

"Is Katie mad about something?" He says.

"She and Greg aren't getting along. I think I should just grab a few things and we can stay at your place tonight, okay?"

"Sure. Want me to wait here?"

"Yeah, you'd better. I'll be right out."

She glances over at him as he drives. He seems relaxed enough, but there's weariness in his face that she doesn't remember seeing before. He looks older somehow. Still, she knows he considers the question asked and answered. He's told her he's fine.

At his apartment she comes up behind him as he opens the fridge to grab a beer. "Ugh. Raylan, we ate that Chinese three weeks ago."

He laughs. "Thanks, you saved me from certain death from food poisoning." He tosses it in the trash. "Worse yet, there's only one beer. Guess I haven't been here for awhile."

Winona takes the beer and twists the cap off. "That's okay, I'll share." She takes a sip and passes it to him with a smile. He sets it on the counter and pulls her in for a kiss.

"I like this dress," He says. "You look real pretty. How was the concert?"

It had been a favorite band of Katie's, not hers. "Loud. We had to stand the whole time."

"You tired?"

She wraps her arms around him, tucking her hands in the back pockets of his jeans and smiles. "No, I'm not tired at all."

He kisses her again, hands roaming. They move toward the futon, undressing each other without rushing. They make love slowly, almost silently. It feels as if he's memorizing her with his hands and mouth. He buries his face in her hair and breathes, and she instinctively holds him tighter, murmuring in his ear.

He's restless in his sleep, tossing and turning. Every time she touches him, letting him know she's awake and available to talk to, he either lapses back into sleep or fakes it. She watches him for awhile, restless herself, and worried; but eventually she drifts off.

He's in the shower when she wakes up the next morning. There's a cup of coffee from the convenience store on the corner sitting on the bedside table. It makes her smile. He always manages to sneak out and back while she's sleeping. She sits up and takes a sip, then reaches for the remote and flicks on the television. She's never been one to watch a lot of news; it's too depressing, but she always tunes in for the weather before work. She picks Raylan's shirt up off the floor and slips it on, sitting cross-legged on the bed and sipping the coffee. The announcer's voice catches her ear. "...was shot by a U.S. Marshal and died at the scene..." Her stomach does a flip. She turns the volume up and listens to the rest of the story.

The perky blonde weather girl is giving the forecast when Raylan walks in, towel around his waist. He bends and plants a kiss on the top of her head. "Mornin'."

She flicks the tv off. "That was you who shot that man -the one who had that boy - wasn't it?"

"Winona..."

"When were you going to tell me, Raylan?" She sighs. "Or were you going to tell me at all?" She looks up at him. "I _knew_ something was wrong. I asked you and you lied to me."

He sighs and runs a hand through his damp hair. "I didn't lie."

"So you were 'fine'? Really?" She rolls her eyes at him. "Oh, yeah, I forgot, you shoot people every day."

He sinks onto the futon beside her. "How can I tell you about something I don't understand myself?" He says softly. "I know I did the right thing. I did the _only_ thing. Nothing else would have stopped him."

"I know that." She touches his face, warm and flushed from the shower. "I love you," she searches his eyes. "Are you sure you're okay, really?"

"Yeah, I am." He puts an arm around her and she leans against his shoulder. She's still not confident he's telling the truth about being okay, but it's what he wants her to believe, so for now, she'll pretend she does.


	13. Chapter 13

Raylan hasn't even sat down; he's still in his hat grabbing a coffee when Chuck approaches. "How're you doing?" He says.

Raylan sighs. He wishes he wouldn't ask. He might manage to forget about it for a few minutes. "I'm good."

Chuck looks him over. "You get some sleep last night?"

"Yeah, really, I'm good."

Chuck eyes him again, skeptically. "There's someone here to see you, in my office."

Raylan raises an eyebrow and despite his confidence in the rightness of his decision, his heartbeat speeds up. "AUSA? Already?"

"No, no...she won't be here until next week. Just come on in." He goes in ahead of him.

There's a thin, dishwater blond woman sitting in a chair in front of the chief's desk, twisting and untwisting the handle of the tattered purse in her lap. Her age is almost impossible to guess, but her face is deeply lined and it's easy to see that life has been hard on her.

"Raylan, this is Beverly Reynolds. Jeremy Keiffer is her grandson."

He doffs his hat and holds out his hand. "Ma'am."

She pushes up from the chair and clasps his extended hand in both of hers. "I don't know how to thank you. There aren't words," she says, tearfully. "Jeremy...he's a good boy...but...lonely. There's just him and me. I always told him not to talk to strangers, but he's at the laundromat with me so much...he's real friendly. He likes people.

"Raylan wonders if that's still true but he doesn't say anything. He lets her squeeze his hand and ramble on telling him about how bright her grandson is, despite his useless mother, dead of an overdose; how well he does in school, what a hard worker he is.

"How is he...Jeremy?" Raylan asks when she pauses for a moment.

She shakes here head. "He seems happy enough to be home," she says. "But he's real quiet. Won't tell me nothin' 'bout what happened to him. They say I gotta get him some counseling." She sighs. "God knows I love that boy but I can't afford any of that..."

"Ma'am," Chuck interjects. "Didn't the sheriff tell you? There's places you can go if you can't afford to pay for the counseling he needs."

"Really?" She looks hopeful and skeptical at the same time.

"Let me make a call," he says. "Raylan, why don't you get Ms. Reynolds some coffee?"

Chuck comes back with a list of names and phone numbers and she thanks him, slipping it into her pocket. She thanks Raylan again and sets the half-empty coffee cup on the desk. "I'd better be going back to the laundromat. I got a girl helpin' me out, but she isn't always dependable." She turns with her hand on the door. "I want you to thank that other marshal for me, too. They said he was real nice to Jeremy. But you're the one I wanted to meet the most 'cause of what you did." Her eyes glint now with something other than sorrow. "I'm glad that son-of-a-bitch is dead. If that makes me a bad Christian, I guess I don't care."

A few minutes after she leaves Brett comes in with doughnuts and Raylan doesn't know what he's more grateful for; the unexpected treat or the fact that Brett doesn't ask him how he's doing.

The rest of the day is blessedly consumed by paperwork. He grabs a sandwich at the deli and eats lunch at his desk. Brett is out of the office in the afternoon on a transport, picking up a fugitive apprehended by the SLCPD and returning him to Gunnison. Chuck has a meeting, and the two other marshals in the office are silent behind their stacks of files.

He rubs his temples. He's tired. Despite his assurances to Chuck, he hadn't slept well last night. Every time he closed his eyes, the scene in the diner replayed itself like a bad movie. No matter how it played out, it always ended the same. Lovell was scum, and he made his choices that led to his end. He feels much like Jeremy's grandmother, he's not sorry Lovell is dead, but he wouldn't mind if it had been someone else who took him out.

Chuck walks in, saving him from further introspection. "Let's cut out early…go get you a gun. And maybe have a drink."

"Alright," he says. He buys the same piece he had before. Chuck approves, sharing that he hasn't changed weapons in the last ten years. "Shoot what you're comfortable with."

He's never been to the bar the chief pulls into. It's a cop bar, obviously. There are pictures on the walls of SLCPD and Sheriff's deputies killed in the line of duty over the past thirty or forty years. The number is less than ten. Chuck slides into a booth near the front and calls to the bartender. "Give us a couple of whatever's on tap, Bernie." As an afterthought he glances at Raylan. "Unless you want something stronger."

"Beer's fine."

The bartender sets two foam topped mugs down on the table. "Want me to start a tab?" he asks Chuck. "Yeah, sure." Chuck takes a long drink. "Ah. That's good."

Raylan smiles and takes a drink of his own. It _is_ good. Ice cold and bitter with hops.

Chuck leans his elbows on the table and sighs. "I know you think you're okay," he holds up a hand before Raylan can protest. "And maybe you are. I've had plenty of guys who walked away from a shooting and never looked back, most of 'em were military before they came on the job; but that's not the point." He takes another swig. "Thing is, it doesn't matter whether or not it was a good shooting – which it was - what I think it comes down to is this; people aren't supposed to kill each other, and when we do, even for a good reason, we're supposed to feel bad about it. Even if it's just a little bit bad."

Raylan nods slowly at his boss. "I didn't sleep real well last night," he admits.

"I didn't think so," Chuck says. He finishes his beer and motions to the bartender. "You want another?" Raylan nods and he holds up two fingers.

Chuck pulls a card out of his pocket. "This isn't an order, now, it's just a suggestion. This guy's good at what he does. You want to talk, he's the one to talk to."

"Thanks," Raylan takes the card, glances at it, and slips it in his jacket pocket, even though he knows he won't go.


	14. Chapter 14

He's mumbling in his sleep and she shifts closer. His eyes move beneath the lids and he twitches, moaning again "Raylan," she whispers. "Wake up. You're dreaming." He doesn't respond and she touches his shoulder. He jerks and his eyes flutter open. "You were talking in your sleep," she says, soft. "Bad dream?"

"Yeah," his voice is gravelly. He stretches, fingers trailing along her back. "It's okay now, go back to sleep."

She leans up on one elbow and brushes the hair out of his eyes. "You wanna tell me about the dream? Was it about the shooting?"

"No," he says. He hesitates. "I was dreamin' about Harlan."

"You were dreaming about Kentucky?" She laughs. "That _was_ a bad dream." She runs her thumb along his forehead and temple, pressing gently. He closes his eyes.

"That feels good," he says. "I worked in the mines for a while when I was just outta high school, did I ever tell you that?"

She shakes her head, resisting the urge to remind him how little he shares with her. "No, you didn't." Maybe in this safe cocoon of darkness he'll reveal some of the past he holds so tightly. She waits and listens. After a few minutes he goes on.

"We were down pretty deep and there was a cave-in. There were four of us trapped in the dark with alarms going off all around and dust choking the air out of us. Not for long, thank God. One of the guys got us out, right before a second cave in closed off the way to the elevators. Scariest thing ever happened to me. I still dream about it sometimes. This is the first time in a long while."

"That would be scary." She tries to picture him, young, scared, covered in coal dust; but she can't reconcile it with the man in her bed.

"I _hated_ that mine."

"Why did you do it?"

He shrugs, and his gaze shifts away like it always does when he doesn't want to talk about something. But he takes a deep breath and meets her eyes. "Nothin' else to do in Harlan. You're a miner, or you're a farmer, or you're a criminal, like Arlo. Helen saved me. She got me out. Weren't for her..."

"You'd have found a way out," she says. "I know you would've." She wonders though, if he'd still be there, maybe not in the mine, and certainly not a farmer, but if he hadn't gotten out, would he have become his father? A realization hits her; _that's_ his biggest fear. That he still might.

He strokes her hair. "Dream's over. I'm fine, you can go back to sleep."

She shrugs. "I'm not sleepy."

"Well, in that case..." He raises an eyebrow, and grins wickedly, sliding a hand up under her t-shirt.

She pulls the shirt off over her head and he rolls so that she's on top of him, her hair hanging down like a curtain around them. He mouths one taut nipple, tongue circling, then repeats on the other breast. His hands cup her bottom, raising her up so he can slide in. "You drive me crazy," he says. "You know that?"

"Good," she says, smiling. She kisses his mouth, running her fingers through his hair, moving her hips under his hands. He slides his hands up, gripping her waist, holding her still. "I love you."

"I love you, too." She wriggles against him, and he groans. She eases down to kiss him, but he places a hand on her chest, holding her upright. "Stay there. I like watching you."

"Oh, you do, do you?" She teases. "Well, then, by all means, watch." She puts on a show...circling her hips, rising up then dropping back down slowly. She bites her lip and runs her hands through her hair. His eyes are dark coals burning her skin. He's holding her hips again, grinding up against her. She shivers and closes her eyes.

His hand comes up, thumb teasing her nipple. "Open your eyes," he whispers.

She forces them open and he sits up, grabbing her waist and pulling her flush against him, their faces inches apart. They rock together, eyes locked until they're both riding the same wave of release.

He holds her close, arms wrapped tight around her, and eases over onto his side. She opens her eyes and he's staring at her. Her stomach does a flip and somehow she knows what's he's going to say before the words come out.

"Marry me."

She gapes at him and he smiles. "I love you. I want to go to bed with you every night and wake up and see you every morning."

"You already do," she laughs.

"Marry me," he says again, softer this time, less confident, and she chides herself for her glib response. He's still looking at her, waiting for her answer. Her throat is tight and her heart is beating wildly, she's sure he can feel it.

"Raylan," she says. She puts a hand to his cheek and kisses him.

He pulls back, studying her face. "Is that a 'yes'?"

She nods. "Yes, I'll marry you."

His eyes light up like a boy's, and there's no shadow there. It's pure happiness, and it makes her laugh. She loves him, with all the anger and darkness he carries and all of his intensity; he makes her feel alive. He makes her feel needed and wanted and loved, things she hasn't felt in a long, long time.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona's back is pressed against him when he wakes. He throws an arm around her and she turns toward him, burrowing her head into his shoulder. "I had the strangest dream last night," he says.

He feels her smile. "Oh, yeah? The one about the mine?"

"No, this was a_ good_ dream. A really good dream."

"You mean the one where you asked me to marry you and I said 'yes'?"

"You had the same dream? Wow," he laughs. "What are the odds?"

"Yeah," she says, moving up to kiss him. "What are the odds?"

-o-o-O-o-o-

The smell of bacon drifts into the bathroom as he's getting out of the shower. He dries off quickly, pulls on his jeans and follows the aroma out to the kitchen. There's a pile of bacon on a plate on the counter and the skillet is still sizzling. Winona is standing at the stove in his shirt with an egg in her hand. "Scrambled or over easy?" She asks.

"You're cooking?" He says, puzzled. "I thought you didn't cook. You wait until you've reeled me in to reveal this?"

"I had to be sure you didn't just want me for my culinary skills." She laughs. "I can manage bacon and eggs."

"Over easy then." He comes up behind and lifts her hair, planting a kiss behind her ear. "Good morning."

"Morning," she says, turning and kissing him on the mouth. "There's coffee, and I'll take some, too, if you don't mind. Now, back off, Cowboy, and let me cook." She cracks the egg into the skillet.

He peers over her shoulder. "Is that the bacon grease?"

"Is there any other way to cook eggs?"

"No, there is not," he says. It reminds him of the mornings he would wake up at Helen's, safe from Arlo's unpredictable fits of anger or the evidence of it on his mother's face. It's strange, but that feeling of safety is here, now. He hadn't even realized he missed it.

He fetches the coffee, fixing hers the way she likes it with just a little sugar. There's no cream in the fridge, so he doctors his with milk instead.

She finishes the eggs, slides them onto a plate and sets it on the counter. "Eat. You gotta be hungry after all the energy you expended last night." She grins at him, and he steals another kiss.

She takes her own plate and sits on the stool beside him. They eat in comfortable silence.

"If we're engaged I guess I'd better go get you a ring."

The coffee cup is halfway to her lips but she sets it down, wrapping both hands around it. "Before you spend that kind of money on jewelry, I'd rather have a place of our own."

"I thought all women wanted diamonds."

"We've got plenty of time for that. You can get me a diamond on our tenth anniversary," she says.

"Alright then, we'll start looking for a place."

"I love you and I'm really, _really_ happy," she smiles at him.

He reaches over and squeezes her hand, reminded of that first morning after they met. "So am I."


	15. Chapter 15

"Oh my God!" Trina squeals loud enough that a couple two tables away turns to glare at her. Her red curls bounce around her face. "I _knew_ it." She turns to Brett. "Didn't I just say the other day..."

"Honey," Brett says quietly. "Turn the volume down."

Trina glares at him, but lowers her voice. "I'm so happy for you! When's the wedding?"

Winona gives Raylan a sideways glance, but he doesn't jump in. "Um... we're just going to do it at the courthouse."

"Sometime soon," Raylan adds, squeezing her hand.

"No wedding?" Trina asks. She focuses on Winona. "Are you sure? I mean, I know your folks aren't around here, but I'd be happy to help..."

"Trina, it's their business."

Another glare. "I know that. But our wedding was..."

"Exhausting," Brent says. "We spent the first two days of the honeymoon in bed..._sleeping_."

They all laugh, even Trina.

"I can't imagine wearing a big white dress and having a bunch of people staring at me," Winona says, making a face. "I just want Raylan and me and Katie, and you guys, if you want."

"Of course," Brett says. "Just tell us when."

"We'll let you know," Raylan says.

"What about your folks?" Trina looks at both of them, puzzled. 

"Trina, every family isn't a throw back to _The Waltons_ like yours," Brett says. "It's their business." He sets his beer down and motions to the waitress for another round.

"Sorry," Trina says. "I didn't mean to be nosy."

"It's okay," Winona can tell the other woman is embarrassed, more by her husband's uncharacteristic chiding than what she said. "I'm not really close to my parents. Neither is Raylan. Maybe that's why we appreciate each other."

Raylan isn't much for public displays of affection, but now he turns and brushes his lips against her temple. "Maybe it is."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona hadn't answered her phone when he called, but her car is here so he lets himself in with the key the girls keep in under a fake rock in a potted plant by the door. He's chastised them for it more than once, it wouldn't take a determined intruder fifteen minutes to find it, but after driving Winona to the hospital for the third time to retrieve a key from Katie, and having Katie interrupt them twice for the same thing, he'd thrown up his hands in defeat.

The apartment is dark and quiet. "Winona?" He calls, coming into the kitchen.

"In here."

Her voice sounds odd, and when he peers into the living room he sees why. She's curled on the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest. Even in the dim light he can tell her eyes are red from crying.

He's never seen her like this. He sits on the edge of the couch and reaches out to touch her shoulder. "What's wrong?

"I don't know what I was thinking," she says. Tears threaten and she swipes them away angrily. "It's never going to be any different. _Never._"

"What?" He's confused, but he keeps his voice soft. "What isn't going to be any different?"

She leans her head back against the cushions with a sigh. "Stupid me, I called home," she says, punching the pillow. "I don't know why. I guess, I thought Mama might want to know I was getting married. I guess I thought she might actually be _happy _for me." She shakes her head. "But that's never going to happen." She doesn't bother to wipe the tears this time.

"Hey," he pulls her close and she buries her face in his shirt. "I got you." He strokes her back, one hand in her hair.

She sniffles for a few minutes, and then pulls away. "I'm okay."

"I'm sorry," he says.

"I just...well...after what Trina said, I thought I should at least tell them."

"Did you talk to them both?"

"No, I could hear Daddy yelling at her to give him the phone, but she didn't, she just kept _berating_ me and then she hung up."

"Berating you about what?" He clenches his fist and takes a deep breath; if Winona's mother was here right now he's pretty sure he'd slap her.

"It doesn't matter," she says. "It's been like this since Valerie died. She looks at me and wishes I'd died instead."

"'Nona..."

"It's true." She looks small and sad and he wants to make it all go away, but he knows that no matter how much he tries, that isn't happening. Maybe it _was_ fate that brought them together. Someone from a normal, happy family wouldn't understand, at least not the same way.

"I know we were going to go out," she says. "But would you mind if we just stay home tonight?"

"Not at all."

"You can order in if you want. I'm not very hungry." She stares past him out the window.

"We can get Thai ," he says, trying to tempt her.

"Lemongrass soup sounds good. But you don't like Thai that much."

"I'll get chicken. What can they do to chicken?"

She smiles. "Thank you." She looks down at the pillow in her lap. "Well, my family was a bust. Are you going to tell Helen and Arlo?"

"I'll write to Helen. Eventually." He wishes it were a hundred years ago, where you'd mail a letter with news and not hear back for months. He scoots farther onto the couch and she curls up beside him. "We'll make our own family, you and me."

She doesn't say anything, just moves closer, practically on his lap, and wraps her arms around him. They stay that way for a long time.


	16. Chapter 16

It's Friday afternoon. The courts are closed for a holiday and Trina had insisted on a shopping trip. "You can't get married in one of those skinny little skirts you're always wearing. You need a special dress just for the occasion."

"Not white," Winona said. "Promise me, we won't even look at anything white. Or beige, either."

"No one gets married in beige," Trina agrees.

They're able to find a dress Winona likes, in a blue gray that accents her eyes, but the boutique doesn't have her size. They offer to order it, but Trina has her try on one size larger and pinches it in at the waist. "I can alter it to fit like it was made for you, I promise."

"You sew?"

"Sew, knit, weave, paint; you name it," Trina says. "I taught fiber arts at the community college before Walt was born. I'll get back to it one of these days."

They find shoes to match the dress and wander around the shops most of the afternoon. Winona talks Trina into some lacy underwear after she confesses she hasn't had anything new since before she got pregnant with Madeline. "Brett's going to like you even more when I tell him where this came from," Trina laughs.

Now they're sitting in a Mexican restaurant having a drink before they have to meet the guys. There's a charity-bowling event with the Marshals and the local SLCPD and neither of them are in a hurry to get there.

"How's Raylan?"

"He tells me he's fine," Winona says. "He seems fine, most of the time. At least he's sleeping better; not as restless as he was." She takes a sip of her margarita and leans an elbow on the table. "He hasn't talked about it at all. Not to me. Not since the morning I saw the report on the news."

Trina loads a chip with guacamole, but stops just short of her mouth, setting it down on the plate. "Brett shot a guy a couple of years ago," She says. "This guy's buddy was a fugitive and things got dicey when the marshals came to get him. The man Brett shot got caught in the middle. He didn't die, but he was paralyzed. His wife made a big stink about him being an innocent bystander, which he wasn't. He was armed." Trina emphasizes the point tapping a fingernail on the colorfully tiled table. "Then he got an infection in the hospital and he died. She made a lot of noise about suing, but in the end, she didn't." She takes a sip of her drink. "I could tell Brett was having a hard time with it. But he didn't talk to me a lot either." She shrugs. "It's just the way they are. They process it their own way."

"I can't even imagine," Winona says. "I wonder sometimes if I could even shoot someone to defend myself."

"Wait until you have kids," Trina says. "I never thought I could hurt someone, but if anyone messed with my kids..." Her eyes darken and her usual smile flattens into a grim line. "I could tear them apart with my bare hands and never think twice."

"Are the kids staying with your folks all night?" Winona asks.

"Yeah," Trina says, brightening. "First time for Madeline. That'll be weird. But nice, too. No interruptions tonight." She laughs. "My advice...after you guys get married, get a lot of sex in _before_ you have kids." She grins and Winona is struck again by her bluntness. "Do you _want _kids?"

"I've never really thought too much about it," Winona says.

"Until recently?" Trina's grinning at her again.

She shrugs. "I don't really know if that's something Raylan wants."

"That might be something you should talk about," Trina seems surprised. "It's kinda important, dontcha think?" Winona doesn't answer. "He's always been good with Walt," Trina notes.

"Where'd you come up with the name Walt?" Winona asks, changing the subject. "It's unusual, kind of old-fashioned."

"Walter is Brett's grandfather. He raised him. Brett's dad took off when he was a baby, and his mother was into drugs and a lot of other things. Even though he was a widower, Walter stepped up and took Brett and his brother in when his mom went to prison. Brett was five or so, his brother was eight. Walter's almost eighty now. Still lives by himself in the house Brett grew up in."

"Here in Salt Lake?"

"No, he's in Indiana, not far from Chicago. We've been trying to get him to move out here, but so far he's having none of it," Trina laughs. "Stubborn old man."

"We should probably go," Winona says, glancing at her watch. She pulls out a twenty and lays it on the bar.

"Off to wear shoes that thousands of other feet have worn," Trina says, making a face.

Winona looks appalled. "I thought we could just watch."

"Oh honey," Trina laughs. "You have a lot to learn about being a LEO wife."

In the end, it turns out to be fun, for the most part. Brett revels in being a _much_ better bowler than Raylan. "Finally, something I can beat you at," he gloats.

Chuck's wife Laurel is the best of the women, and his oldest daughter, Katlin, who's twelve, is a close second. Winona is better than Trina, which isn't saying much since Trina rolls nothing but gutter balls. Jabs at Brett to 'get his wife out of the gutter' fly back and forth all night.

They're headed to the cars when Trina grabs Winona's arm. "Hey, I almost forgot...you guys have plans for Thanksgiving?"

"No," Winona says. She'd honestly forgotten it was next week. Last year she and Katie had eaten at Greg's but she doesn't think that invitation will be coming, or that Raylan would appreciate being dragged along to someplace where he didn't know anyone.

"Come to our house," Trina says. "My parents and my brothers and their wives and kids will be there, and Brett's brother _might _show up...with Nick we never know. Our neighbors, Ken and Vicki are coming, too. Their son is in the Air Force and he won't be home this year."

"Wow, that's a lot of people," Winona says.

"Please come," Trina says, widening her eyes. "My sisters-in-law drive me nuts. I need someone to drink wine and bitch with."

"Please come," Brett echoes, giving Raylan and Winona a pleading glance. "We need a couple of other people whose names don't begin with 'T'."

"What?" Raylan looks confused.

Trina rolls her eyes. "Todd, Trevor, Trina, and Troy. Don't ask me what Tom and Theresa were thinking."

"You're kidding," Raylan says.

"No, really...I couldn't make that up," Trina says. "Everyone in town called us the Four T's."

"Yeah, and Todd's wife is Tracy and their boy's name is Tyler," Brett says.

Winona laughs. "Did he marry her for her name?"

"I wouldn't doubt it."

"Todd always was a suck-up," Trina says. "Marries a 'T', has the first grand kid, and he gives him a 'T' name. Heck, even his dog is named Toby."

"My God," Raylan says. He shakes his head under the hat.

"We'd love to come," Winona says, laughing. "I'll bring wine. Lots of it."


	17. Chapter 17

Raylan wakes up in an empty bed on Thanksgiving morning. There's light seeping in at the edges of the window blinds, and when he turns his head he's shocked to see it's after nine o'clock. He hardly ever sleeps in this late.

Pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt, he shuffles out to the kitchen, looking for Winona.

There's coffee and a cup left out on the counter. He pours himself some and follows the sound of muted music into the living room. He comes up behind the couch. "Whatcha doin?"

Winona looks up at him, cradling her own mug in both hands. "Morning, Sleepyhead," she smiles. "I'm watching the Macy's Parade."

"That the one with all the balloons?"

"Yeah, haven't you ever watched it?"

"Not that I remember." He does remember going to a Christmas parade in Cincinnati with his mother and Helen when he was seven or eight. Helen bought fudge and he'd eaten too much and thrown up in the truck on the way home. He didn't much like parades after that. Guilt by association.

"Valerie and I used to stay in our pajamas all morning watching," Winona says. "The whole house would start to smell like turkey and pie, and we'd just hold our breath waiting to see Santa at the end. I still like to watch."

He sits down beside her on the couch and drinks the coffee. "No one is marching," he says, staring at the spectacle. "That's not a band. That's a lady standing in the middle of the street singing. And she ain't wearin' much."

"Oh, you noticed," Winona laughs. "She's in some new Broadway show."

"No balloons either."

She glances at him and laughs. "You're bored. You don't have to watch with me, really."

"Thanks, I think I'll go take a shower," he says. "What time are we supposed to be there?"

"Around noon. Hey, get me another cup?" She asks, handing him her empty one. "Please?" She drops her eyes and looks at him through long lashes. He can never resist that look.

He divides the rest of the coffee between them, rinses out the carafe and puts it back. When he goes in to give it to her another woman is singing, this time with a guy dressed up like an elf. "Do they ever march? Like in a real parade?"

"Oh, just go take your shower, Cowboy."

"You could always join me," he says, raising an eyebrow. She only snorts a laugh in response, so he heads off to the bathroom alone. He's rinsing the lather out of his hair when he hears the click of the door opening. Seconds later, she slips in behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and planting a kiss on his shoulder.

"Thought you was watchin' the parade," he says. He moves sideways so that the warm spray hits them both. Her hand moves lower and she closes her fingers around him.

"A girl can change her mind," she murmurs. "Anyway, I think I like this better."

"I would hope so." He turns to face her pressing her back against the cheap plastic of the shower stall, which creaks a warning. "Tile," he mumbles. "Whatever else we're looking for in a place the bathroom needs to have tile. It's a helluva lot sturdier." She laughs and he slides his hands under her hips, lifting her. One leg hooks around his waist and she uses the other to brace herself as he pushes in.

Later, they lie together, tangled in the sheets. The bed is damp despite rubbing each other dry in the bathroom before he playfully snapped her with a towel and chased her in here for round two. She leans up on one slim arm and looks at the clock. "Crap," she says, bolting upright. "We're going to be late."

He watches her dress. "I like that bra," he says, when she pulls out the lacy red one and slips it on. "I'll be thinkin' about that bra under your sweater all day now."

"That's kinda the point." She grins at him and pulls the covers off. "You'd better get up and get dressed yourself, or we really will be late."

"Hey," he grabs her wrist and pulls her down for a quick kiss, copping a feel at the same time. "It was worth it."

She slaps his hand away. "Yeah, it was. Better than a parade, any day."


	18. Chapter 18

They aren't late. They aren't even the last to arrive. Brett meets them at the door, Walt right on his heels. "Sorry Bud, it's not Grandma and Grandpa. _They're always late," _he adds in a whisper.

Walt's face falls, but then he looks at Raylan hopefully. "You can have the tractor again," he says.

"I think maybe Raylan wants to watch some football," Brett tells him.

"Can I watch, too?"

"Sure." Another whisper. "_This'll last about five minutes."_

The house is busy and crowded. Introductions are made all around as they work their way from the front door through the living room. Raylan finds a spot to watch the game and Winona continues on into the kitchen to find Trina and deliver the wine.

"Thank God!" Trina mouths to Winona as she spots her. Reaching into a drawer she hands Winona a corkscrew and points to another cabinet. Winona easily finds the glasses.

"Long morning?" She asks, handing Trina a glass.

"You have no idea," Trina says. She gestures to a thin blonde dressed completely in black. "Tracy there thinks she's Martha Stewart. She's appointed herself social director and put name tags at all the places," she rolls her eyes. "I switched yours so you're sitting by me."

Winona laughs.

"I put Raylan by Brett, too. They can bore Tracy silly talking guns and ammo." She takes a long drink of wine. "Just a warning, she'll flirt like anything with Raylan. That woman needs constant ego stroking. I don't know how Todd puts up with it."

Trina's parents arrive and Walt immediately leaps on his grandfather, dragging him off to play cars, past the family room where the guys are watching the game. "What's the score?" The hapless man yells.

Trina's mother bustles into the kitchen and takes over. "You go visit with your brothers," she suggests. "You all never see each other." She spies Winona, wipes her hand on a kitchen towel and holds it out. "I'm Teri. You must be Trina's new friend. She's told me so much about you! Congratulations, I hear you're engaged."

"Thank you," Winona says, a bit overwhelmed. "It's nice to meet you."

"Where's this fiancé of yours?" She asks. "Oh, never mind, I know. He's watching the game. He's a marshal, too, like Brett, right?"

Winona nods and covers a laugh as Trina rolls her eyes behind her mother's back. It's hard to get a word in edgewise. Winona wonders if Trina realizes how like her mother she is.

A thin, dark-haired man with a beard walks in carrying a beer bottle in one hand and Madeline in the other, held tight against him. Her face is red and tear-streaked. "Someone wants her mama," he says.

"Thanks, Trevor." Trina takes the baby. "She's soaked! Don't you know how to change a diaper?"

"Nope," he grins back at her. "Bachelor, remember?"

"Bachelor for life at the rate you're going," she retorts.

"Fine by me," he says in answer, ducking the towel his mother swipes at him.

Madeline is in much better spirits when she's dry. Trina zaps a bottle in the microwave. "Would you mind?" She asks Winona.

"No, not at all," she holds out her arms for the baby, who looks at her curiously and screws up her face to cry. As soon as she sees the bottle though, she makes a delighted smacking noise. Winona perches on a stool at the bar and watches Trina and her mother – twin dynamos – as Madeline contentedly sucks the bottle down.

"Hey, who you got there?" Raylan asks. He sets two empty beer bottles on the counter and grabs replacements out of the fridge. He lays a hand on Madeline's head as he passes and she gives him a toothless grin.

"Tell them it's dinner in ten," Trina says.

"Will do."

"He'll be a great dad," Trina says to Winona.

Teri whirls around. "Oh! Are you...?"

"No!" Winona says. "Definitely _not_." She holds up her wine glass as evidence.

Trina laughs.

-o-o-O-o-o-

He's stuffed. The food is delicious and plentiful and as long as his mouth is full he doesn't have to make conversation with the annoying blonde to his right. If she touches his arm one more time he might just stab her with his fork. Thank God Brett is across from him and Trina's father is on the end with Walt.

Raylan watches Brett and Tom take turns plying Walt with the unfamiliar food, cutting his meat, and (twice) cleaning up the juice he spills on the tablecloth. Somehow they feed themselves, but it's an exercise in teamwork. At the other end of the table, Trina manages to eat while keeping Madeline's grasping hands away from her plate, her fork, and her wine glass.

By the end of the meal, Madeline is asleep in her grandmother's lap and Walt is under the table running his police car over everyone's feet.

The older boy, Tyler, sits across from the blonde, who's evidently his mother. More than once Raylan catches her giving the boy a disparaging look for some unknown reason. Tyler's manners seem perfect; _too _perfect, as if he's trying to please someone whose expectations are unachievable. Raylan remembers the feeling. He catches the boy's eye at one point and winks. He gets a weak smile in answer.

After dinner everyone wanders off to find a place to collapse. He makes his way into the living room and finds Winona on the couch, a dozing Madeline on her lap. Raylan flops on the floor, leaning back against her knees. She runs a hand through his hair as they watch the end of the second football game.

Shooed out of the kitchen by her mother, Trina retrieves Madeline and puts her to bed, and the guests begin to trickle out into the early evening darkness. Winona yawns, and he takes that as a cue.

"We'd better get goin'," he says to Brett. "You in the office tomorrow?"

"Nope," Brett says. "I took the day. Daddy duty. Trina's going shopping with her mom."

"See you Monday, then."

Winona's quiet in the car until they're almost home. They've stopped at a light and she leans back against the door, looking at him pensively. "Do you want kids?" When he doesn't answer right away she adds; "We've never really talked about it."

"Don't you?" He throws the question back at her.

"Eventually, yeah, I do."

"Eventually?"

She twists her hands in her lap and nods. "Not right away."

"Thank God." He sighs, and shoots her a sideways grin.

She laughs and tension he hadn't even realized was there between them seems to dissipate. "Really? You kept _looking_ at me the whole time I was holding Madeline...I thought...you were thinking..."

"I was thinking _you_ seemed to really enjoy holding Madeline," he says, taking the turn into the parking lot.

"I _did _enjoy holding her," Winona says. "But I was more than happy to give her back to her mama. I'm not ready for that."

"Good. I want you all to myself for a while."

They exit the car laughing. She links her arm through his and leans in. His lips brush the top of her head and she's turning her face up for a kiss when he spies a movement out of the corner of his eye. In a split second his hand goes for his gun_. _ He pushes her behind him and raises the other hand in warning as a figure approaches from between two cars. His fingers twitch, ready to draw just as a voice says "Winona?"

He feels her stiffen behind him. "Raylan, wait," she says, laying a hand on his arm. She steps up beside him and stares wide-eyed at the man walking toward them.

"Daddy? What are you doing here?"

_A/N No, if you are re-reading this, you aren't crazy. I made a change, and gave Raylan his gun back. LOL. I was vacillating back and forth before I originally posted and decided that he wouldn't take it to Thanksgiving dinner, but on second thought (and a comment from ICanStopAnyTime) I decided, yeah, he would. So I changed it. Because I can. ;-)_


	19. Chapter 19

"Daddy," Winona repeats, clutching Raylan's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Noni, Baby," he says. He's about Raylan's height, but heavier, with a thick head of white hair still tinged with dark strands here and there. His tie hangs loosely and his suit jacket is rumpled. He holds out his hand. "Thanks for not pullin' that gun on me. You must be the lucky man. Sorry, but Barbara didn't get your name. I'm Wayne, Wayne Griffiths."

He has to let go of Winona's hand to accept Wayne's. It's a firm handshake, a businessman's no nonsense grip, quickly released. "Raylan Givens," he says. "Sorry about that. Nice to meet you."

"Well, I guess I won't be surprisin' you again anytime soon." He chuckles. "Good to know she's well taken care of."

Winona has already reclaimed Raylan's hand. She hasn't spoken another word. Wayne shoves his hands in his pockets, looking uncomfortable. Raylan can't help but echo Winona's wondering in his mind...what is the man doing here? It couldn't have been easy getting to Salt Lake from Kentucky, especially on a holiday. He looks exhausted. Did he drive or fly? If he drove, he'd have had to leave practically the same day Winona made the phone call that upset her so, or soon after. If he flew...Raylan remembers the pictures on the news of the long lines at the airport filled with folks anxious to get home for the holiday. However he travelled, he must've really wanted to see his daughter.

"Why don't we go inside?" Raylan suggests, even though he isn't sure it's his place. They walk to the door in awkward silence.

In the kitchen, Winona sets her purse on the counter and turns, arms crossed in front of her. "What's going on?" She asks.

Wayne sighs, shifting his weight, his eyes cast down. "I've left your mother," he says. He shakes his head. "Close to thirty years. That's a lot to throw away but..." another sigh. "When you called after all this time and she...lit into you like that for no good reason about things best left in the past...well...I couldn't abide it. I told her she needed to apologize, and when she wouldn't call you back I packed up and left." He finally meets Winona's eyes. "I'm sorry. I shoulda done somethin' a long time ago."

Winona sinks onto one of the kitchen stools and Raylan rubs her back in small circles, his eyes on her father.

She finds her voice. "Are you getting a divorce?"

"I don't know. All I know is that she's let that damn_ accident_ destroy her...destroy our family. Like she's the only one who lost someone." The man's hands are shaking and Raylan pulls a second stool out from the counter. "Thank you," Wayne says. He sits, laying a hand on Winona's arm. She doesn't pull away. "We all lost Valerie. You lost your sister...I lost my daughter,too. But all your mama ever saw was her own pain and it's never eased so she's never let us heal either. She's a selfish, selfish woman."

Winona looks at him. "You..." she starts, but Wayne holds up a hand.

"I wasn't much better," he acknowledges. "Not for a long time. Not while she was making your life hell and driving you away from us. I should have protected you. I know that." He takes a deep breath. "I haven't had a drink in three years. Not one. And let me tell you, living with that woman it hasn't been easy." Winona's lips curve in an almost-smile. "Luckily for me she's turned to wine over bourbon these days. Course that could be because the doc told her the bourbon would kill her in a year, the rate she was going."

"Does she know where you are?"

"No. Hell." He shakes his head and laughs. "I didn't even know where I was going when I left. Just got in the car and started driving.". There's the question answered, thinks Raylan. "Pretty country out here." Wayne looks around the kitchen. "You all have a nice place."

"Raylan doesn't live here," Winona says quickly. The urgency of her clarification surprises Raylan. "I have a roommate but she's out of town."

Wayne's gaze slides toward Raylan and he chuckles. "Darlin' you are a beautiful grown-up woman and whether your young man lives here or not, well, that's no more my business than the man in the moon. Especially considering."

Winona lowers her head. When she looks up again, her eyes are wide and blue and Raylan sees the same eyes staring back from Wayne's face. Father and daughter look at each other for a long moment.

"I was hurting," Wayne said. "I hope you never know what it's like to lose a child. There wasn't anything left for you and your mother...and she had nothing for you either. What happened...after that...if we'd been paying attention...I'm sorry, Baby...so sorry."

Winona doesn't say anything. She just lets her father hold her hand. Raylan feels a bit of an outsider, until she slips her other arm around him. He moves closer and she leans her head against his side.

"So you're from Kentucky, too?" Wayne says. "Small world."

"Yes, Harlan County."

Wayne purses his lips and looks up to the right, thinking. "Had a run in with a kid from over around Harlan a year or so back, name of Bennett. Tried to sell a truck turned out to be stolen. Couldn't never prove it of course. His mama came up and collected it, gave me back my deposit and thanked me for keeping it out of the law's hands...heck, the police had investigated but not charged anyone ...she oughta thanked them...anyway. Hill country, Harlan. Coal. Your daddy work the mines?"

"For a bit. Not anymore."

"Hard work."

"Hell," Raylan says.

Wayne nods. "Sounds like you're glad to be out."

"Out and never goin' back," Raylan says. "No offense."

"None taken."

"Did you have any dinner?" Winona asks. Raylan remembers that most of the restaurants are closed today. There's hardly anyone without _somewhere _to celebrate the holiday so it doesn't pay them to stay open.

Wayne smiles. "There's a church just down the road here. I saw their sign the first time I drove up, a few hours ago. They had a free Thanksgiving meal." Winona looks horrified at the thought. "Hey, the food was good. And they were real nice. I learned a bit about Salt Lake City history, and a few Bible verses, too."

Winona stifles a yawn. A glance at the clock shows him it's almost midnight.

"You all have to work tomorrow," Wayne says, rising from the stool. "I'd better go."

"Where?" Winona asks. "Where are you going?"

"I got a room at the Comfort Inn," he says. "I'm not intruding on you."

She makes to protest, but he shakes his head. "Can you get away for lunch tomorrow?"

"Raylan?" She says, looking up at him.

He wonders if Wayne might like some private time with his daughter, but Winona is _his _first priority as well, and she obviously wants him there. "I can probably get away."

"Why don't you come to my office in the courthouse," she says, writing down the number. "I can show you what I do, then we can pick up Raylan and get some lunch."

"Okay," Wayne says. "I'll see you both tomorrow then."

Winona walks him to the door. He leans down and kisses her cheek and she hugs him. "Bye, Daddy."

Raylan walks around the counter and wraps her in an embrace as she closes the door.


	20. Chapter 20

She curls one hand around the coffee cup and rubs her temple with the other. Between the wine with dinner at Trina's, her father's surprise visit, and not being able to sleep, her head is pounding. Maybe the caffeine will help. It's not even five a.m and she doesn't have to be up for another hour or two, but all she was doing in bed was tossing and turning. She could tell Raylan was worried last night when she went straight to bed after her father left. She didn't want to talk or make love and now, when she would welcome either, he's sound asleep.

Daddy has aged. His hair had started to go white before she left, but now it's almost all white, and the lines around his eyes are deeper. He's thinner, too. Not thin, Wayne Griffiths is a big-boned man and he'll never be lean and sinewy like Raylan, but he's definitely thinner than she ever remembers seeing him. That probably makes him look older, too. She wonders what Mama looks like now. Her mother had been beautiful when Winona was a child, but it was the kind of beauty that faded, rather than matured, and the last time she'd seen her mother the alcohol was already taking its toll. From what Daddy said, now it was affecting her health, too. It makes Winona sad, but in an abstract way, almost like sympathizing over some stranger's troubles.

She's glad Raylan took her cue and is coming to lunch with them. It's good to see her father, but it feels strange after all this time and she isn't ready for one-on-one yet. Raylan makes her feel safe, even from the past.

"You're up awful early."

His voice startles her and she jerks, splashing coffee on the counter. "Oh!"

"Hey," he says, soft. "You okay?"

She turns on the stool and he steps forward to hold her. She lays her cheek against his chest. "Now I am," she says.

"You wanna come back to bed?"

"I can't sleep."

She feels his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug and his lips brush her ear. "We don't have to sleep."

"We don't have to go back to bed, either," she says.

"Oh? Really?"

She kisses the soft spot at the base of his throat where his pulse throbs. "We could do it right here."

"Feeling adventurous, are you?" His chest rumbles with his laugh. He lifts her easily, setting her on the counter, gathering the soft cotton of her t-shirt in his hands, sliding it up.

She hooks her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and peeks inside. "Looks like you're up for a little adventure yourself."

"Always."

"I want you," she says, hitching one leg around his hip. "I _need _you." She fits her heel in the small of his back and pulls him to her.

Later, huddled together on the couch with the throw pulled over them, she tells him all of it. "It started after the funeral. Mark and his parents came back to the house and Mama had a fit. She was crying and yelling; calling Mark a murderer and Daddy didn't stop her. I felt so bad I called him the next day...we started meeting to talk and one thing led to another..."

"You slept with him." She nods. He strokes her hair. "You were how old?"

"Fifteen. He turned nineteen that summer..." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I was silly to think he..."

"You weren't silly, you were fifteen and you'd just lost your sister."

"When my parents found out, Mama said I'd betrayed Valerie's memory. She's never forgiven me," she closes her eyes. "Daddy didn't say anything at all. We never talked about it. Mark left for college and I went back to school. There was a lot of gossip. I wasn't just the girl with the dead sister. That would have been bad enough. I was the girl who slept with her dead sister's boyfriend." She sits up, keeping the throw around her. "See why I wanted to get as far away from Kentucky as I could?"

"I do," he kisses her. " I'm glad you left. I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too. Maybe Trina's right, about fate and all that. Maybe everything... all the bad stuff that's happened to us just brought us here to each other."

"Maybe it did."

"Let's get married."

He looks up at her and laughs. "I thought I already asked."

"I mean let's do it now," she says. "Before Christmas."

He sits up. "We don't have a place yet."

She shrugs. "So we'll live in your place until after Christmas; or keep splitting our time like we do now...but we'll be married."

"Why're you in a hurry all of a sudden? You want your father there?"

"Not necessarily," she says. "I just...I don't know...I don't want to wait anymore. I want to get started on _our _life."

He's looking at her now, that one shank of hair hanging down in his eyes. "You sure this isn't about your father showin' up?"

"You don't want to get married now?"

"I didn't say that," he sighs and brushes the hair away from his face like he does whenever he's exasperated. "Of course I want to marry you."

"But not _now_."

"I don't know if I can get time off," he warns. "We couldn't have much of a honeymoon."

"That's okay," she says. "We can do it later," she reaches for his hand. "Please?"

"Tell you what," he tugs on her hand and wraps an arm around her. "If you still feel this way Monday, we'll do it as soon as we can."

"I will," she says.

"We'll see."


	21. Chapter 21

'Givens, Daniels, in my office," Chief says.

"Thought you weren't workin' today," Raylan says to Brett as they weave their way through the jumble of desks to the back.

"Chuck called this morning and asked me to come in for a quick meeting. Something must be up. Both kids are with Grandpa. Hopefully I'm back before he collapses," Brett laughs.

"Shut the door," Chuck says once they're in. He tosses a file on the desk. "I know you've both heard of Jameson Reeve."

"The polygamist?" Brett says. "The one with, what, thirteen wives, four or five of 'em underage?"

"Yeah, that one." Chief Paul smirks. "Like there's another. Hell, there probably is and we just haven't heard of him yet. Anyway...here's the deal; the AUSA is going for a RICO indictment against him and his two top 'Deacons'." He glances at the file. "Heath Watson and Neil Lerner."

"RICO? How're they gonna get RICO out of polygamy?" Raylan says.

"There's evidence that Reeve's been transporting minors across state lines to marry members of the 'church'."

"Not enough willing underage girls in Utah? Well, there's your kidnapping," Brett says. "Offense number one."

"Obstruction is obvious, going back decades," Chuck adds. "Then there's extortion and bribery. And it looks like maybe now he's graduated to murder." He pushes a second file across the desk. Raylan picks it up and flips through.

"Jeffery Weaver?" Raylan says. "Never heard of him."

"Left Reeve about two years ago. Took his _one_ wife and two kids with him. He's been cooperating with the Feds."

Raylan pulls out a photo of a dark-haired woman. "This the wife?"

"Yeah, Hannah Weaver. She was sixteen when she married Jeffery, he was twenty-eight. She'd be about twenty-four or so now. He disappeared three months ago. Just walked out the front door and never came back. Wife says they weren't arguing. Two kids, both boys, seven and four. They found a body in the desert last week; cause of death was a bullet to the back of the head. It looks like it might be him, but the identity isn't being released to anyone yet, not even the family."

"Wow." Brett says. "Do you think they can actually pin this on Jameson?"

"They've got a case. Weaver's wife saw a car outside their house a couple of days before he disappeared and wrote down the license. Smart woman, or paranoid..."

"With reason, it would seem," Raylan says.

"Yeah, the plate came back registered to a sister of one of the deacons. Wife says she's pretty sure she'd know the driver if she saw him again. He looked familiar."

"They think it's one of Jameson's guys," Brett says. "Someone she'd remember from the compound."

"Exactly. Here's the deal. This is going down right after the New Year, but I need you both on it starting next week. We're doing inventory of his properties. We need to know where every piece of land he owns is and what's on it...buildings, sheds, chicken coops...hell, whatever."

"They're going for a pre-trial injunction?" Raylan says.

"Seizing his assets, or freezing them anyway. That's one thing. Then there's Hannah Weaver." Chuck leans back on the desk. "Right now, she's refusing protection. She and her kids are at her sister's in Provo, and we've got the locals doing a regular check of the neighborhood; but when the news breaks about her husband..."

"She may change her mind about protection."

"Let's hope so," Chuck nods. "So that's a heads up...there may be some WITSEC time. It could be a long haul, so we'd switch folks in and out, but I'd like to keep it tight, maybe just you two and Linda. We might get some help on that from Denver or Reno, though. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." He picks up the files and points to a box on the floor. "Those are the property records we _have_. We know that isn't everything. Get on it first thing Monday morning. Some of these may have to be checked out on site if you can't get plans and specs, but listen; if you go _anywhere _near these properties you wear a vest, got it?" He jabs at each of them with his finger for emphasis. "These guys are jittery and they hate the government. Who the hell knows what they might do." He looks at Brett. "Didn't I give you the day off? Get out of here."

"Okay, Chief. See ya, Raylan."

"Bye." Raylan picks up the box and turns to go back to his desk.

"Just a minute, Givens."

"Yeah?"

"Any particular reason you ran a background check on a..." the Chief consults a paper on his desk. "Wayne Griffiths out of Lawrenceburg, Kentucky? You got a case I don't know about?"

_Shit. _He sets the box down and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh. "That's Winona's father. He showed up out of the blue last night; she hasn't seen her parents in years...I wanted to make sure his story panned out."

"And?"

"It seems to. Nothing there." Raylan shrugs. "He owns two car dealerships, one in Lawrenceburg and one in Versailles. His brother-in-law runs the Versailles one. Both are profitable. His bank accounts are clean, no unusually large deposits or withdrawals."

"What were you lookin' for?"

"I don't rightly know," he admits.

"We don't run checks for personal reasons." Chuck reminds him.

Raylan doesn't answer. He's got no excuse.

"I'll let it slide," his boss says. "This time."

"Thanks," Raylan says. He pauses for a minute. "Hey, this may not be the most opportune time to ask, what with this Jameson thing comin' down, but...any chance I could grab a couple of days off, maybe the week between Christmas and New Year's?"

"Slow week. Most of the government's shut down anyway," Chuck says. "You got the vacation days I don't see a problem. Let Gloria know what you want and I'll sign off on it." He cocks his head and studies Raylan's face. "You got something special planned?"

"Maybe," Raylan says. "Thanks, Chief."


	22. Chapter 22

Standing in the atrium of the courthouse, she plays with a strand of hair that's escaped from the twist at the back of her neck. She's nervous. By contrast, Daddy seems relaxed and looks well rested and a lot less rumpled than last night. He got to her office right on time and she's spent the last half-hour showing him around the courthouse and explaining what she does. He's asked questions, and she's answered, but standing here now, waiting, she can't think of a thing to say to him.

Raylan called earlier and said he had to drop off something in the clerk's office and he'd just meet them in the lobby. She smiles in relief when she sees him. He shakes her father's hand and gives her a quick kiss.

"Where do you all go for lunch around here?" Wayne says as they walk together out into the chilly November air.

"I usually eat something from the deli at my desk," Winona says. "Raylan isn't even around here most days. Sometimes we go to _Isaac's_, if we have time," she points to the awning-shaded restaurant across the street.

"How's the food there?" Wayne asks.

"Good," Raylan says. "But a little heavy after yesterday."

"The deli it is then," Wayne nods.

They walk two blocks down the shaded side street to the deli, only to find the lunch crowd lined up out the door. So they retrace their steps and return to _Isaac's._ They have to wait a few minutes, but it's nowhere near as busy as the deli. The interior is dimly lit, with dark wood and shades of deep burgundy and brown in the décor. The polished bar stretches across one entire wall, a gleaming line of amber and gold bottles behind it.

"Oh," Winona says. "Will it bother you to eat in a bar?"

Wayne shakes his head. "I eat at _Willie's_ with your Uncle Dave once a week. I can even have one of those non-alcoholic beers now without feeling like I'm missin' out on somethin'. This'll be fine."

"How is Uncle Dave?" Winona asks as the hostess seats them.

"Good. Still smokin' a pack a day, which is gonna kill him one of these days, but he's good for now. He's a great salesman. That dealership did better than mine the last quarter. Your Aunt Rhea has a new job at the middle school over in Versailles. She's the head cook and nutritionist."

"Rhea is Daddy's sister," Winona says to Raylan.

"My much older sister." Winona laughs and Wayne winks. "Family joke," he says. "Rhea and I are 'Irish twins'. Barely ten months apart. You got family back in Kentucky?"

Winona squeezes Raylan's hand under the table. He takes a drink of water. "My mother passed a few years back. My daddy's still down in Harlan, and I have an aunt, my mama's sister down there, too."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"No."

The waitress takes their order, managing to flirt with both Raylan and Wayne. Once she leaves the conversation lags.

Winona fidgets, crossing and uncrossing her legs. Wayne glances across at Raylan, then back at his daughter. "So have you all set a date?"

"Not yet," Winona says. There's more silence, and Winona twists the napkin in her lap and doesn't look at Raylan.

"Soon," he says. She meets his eyes with a questioning half-smile. He raises an eyebrow in answer, but doesn't say anything.

Wayne nods, looking at them both. Winona wonders if he's waiting for an invitation. "We're just going to get married in the courthouse," she says. "The last thing I want is a big white dress and a bunch of people watching me."

"You never did like being the center of attention," her father says.

"No, that was Valerie." It comes out uncensored, and she has a moment of panic before she hears Daddy's laugh.

"God, yes," he remembers. "She was always trying to get you to be in her little productions or dance with her and you would run and hide in your room."

"I hated people looking at me," Winona says.

"I remember how badly she wanted you to try out for cheerleading," he says. "She was sure you'd make it just because you were her sister," he sips his coffee. "You were pretty enough, too."

"She knew I didn't want to but she nagged and nagged until I said yes just to shut her up," Winona tells Raylan. "She practiced with me for weeks and taught me all the cheers. She even bought me a shirt to wear. The day of the try-outs I was so nervous I threw-up and the school nurse sent me home. Valerie was furious. She didn't speak to me for a week."

"She had a temper, that's for sure," Wayne shakes his head. He looks at Raylan. "Don't let this one fool you. She's quiet, but if you cross her...watch out...she has that temper, too."

"Oh, I know," Raylan grins. "I've come across it once already."

"Well, it evidently didn't scare you off. Good for you."

"Raylan doesn't scare easy," Winona says. She almost adds that he has a temper of his own, but stops herself. What with Arlo it's not something Raylan would think funny, even if she meant it that way, and besides, his temper has never been directed at her.

The waitress arrives with their food and they eat and answer Wayne's questions about Salt Lake City and Raylan's job.

"Sounds interesting," Wayne says between bites. "You ever have to shoot anyone?"

Winona pauses with a forkful of salad halfway to her mouth. "Daddy!"

"It's okay," Raylan says. "That's what people always want to know." He looks Wayne in the eye. "Yes, I have." He doesn't offer details.

"How long are you going to stay?" Winona asks, changing the subject.

"Well now, that's just it, Darlin'," Daddy says. He pushes the plate away, leaving a third of his burger and most of his fries untouched. "I called the house last night and couldn't rouse your mama. Probably waited too late with the time difference and all, but it worries me." He sighs. "I can't live with her anymore. I know that. But I don't want anythin' to happen to her either."

"Is there anyone who could look in on her?" Raylan asks.

"I called Rhea and she's goin' to head over soon as she gets done at school."

"Mama will _love_ that," Winona huffs out a breath. "She and Aunt Rhea don't get along."

"Oh, they used to get along well enough," Wayne says. "Before." He doesn't need to say before what. "Other thing is, I was checkin' the forecast and there's a storm front coming into the mountains in the next week or so. It looks pretty clear through Thursday, so I figured I'd stay the weekend and take off Monday or Tuesday. I don't want to get caught in bad weather on the way back."

Winona isn't sure if she's disappointed or relieved that his visit will be so short. "Katie isn't coming back until Monday, so you don't have to stay at the motel..."

"No, I'm just fine there at the Comfort. You need your privacy and I need mine," he says. "But I hope we can spend some more time together."

"Sure, Daddy," Winona says. She pats his hand, and he grabs hers and holds on to it.

"I don't have to work tomorrow," Raylan says. "We could take him down to Provo, show him some of the resorts."

"I don't do none of that snow skiin' now," Wayne says.

Winona laughs at the thought of her father hurling down the mountain on skinny snow skis. "Katie and I have gone but..." she realizes she's assuming, but she thinks she's probably correct. "Raylan doesn't ski."

"No, I don't," he confirms.

"It's pretty though. And there are some nice restaurants."

Wayne wins the fight with Raylan over the check and they make plans to pick him up at the motel the next morning. Raylan gives him some tips on what he might like to see today while he's on his own and Winona invites him to join them for dinner, but he declines.

"I've monopolized enough of your time for today. We'll spend the day tomorrow. You all have fun. I'm gonna call the dealership and see how things are going and Rhea will be calling sooner or later. They got movies on the TV at the motel, too. Can't tell you when the last time was I saw a whole movie."

"Let me know when Aunt Rhea calls," Winona says.

Daddy looks at her.

She sighs. "She's still my mama."

He kisses her forehead. "I'll call you."


	23. Chapter 23

He runs his fingers through her hair, separating the silky strands. They're on the couch; her head on his shoulder, and one of those indistinguishable holiday movies playing out on the television. "Really? Are kids dumb enough to stick their tongue to a metal pole in freezing weather?"

"It's a movie, Raylan...it's supposed to be funny," she yawns.

"Long couple of days, huh?"

"Yeah," she agrees. "It has been."

"So, I been thinkin' about what you said about gettin' married."

"And..."

"How about the Friday after Christmas? That's the 27th. Chuck said I could take a few days off between Christmas and New Year's. That's not my weekend on, so, we could have four or five days to do something. We'd have to stay close, probably, but maybe we could look around tomorrow when we're down in Provo, see if any of the resorts have deals that week. And it would give us some time between now and then to find a place to live."

She pulls back from him and studies his face. "I'm really lucky to have you."

"Does that mean you like the idea?"

She laughs. "Yes, I like the idea."

"It's a little longer than you wanted to wait..."

She lays her head back down and puts a hand on his chest. "You _may_ have been right about Daddy's visit spooking me a little."

"Oh, you admit I was right, huh?" He digs a finger into her ribs and she giggles.

"I said you _may_ have been right." Another dig, this time under her arm. She shrieks a laugh and struggles to get away, but he holds her fast.

"I was right," he murmurs in her ear. "Say it." He trails his fingers back toward her ribs and she wriggles. "Say it," he laughs, tickling her again.

"You were right," she squeaks. "You were right. Stop. Stop. Stop." She twists out of his grasp and tumbles off the couch onto the floor with a thump. He follows right behind, hovering above her, bracing himself on his arms, staring down at her.

He lowers himself in a slow push-up and kisses her soft on the mouth. "I like being right." he slides his tongue between her lips.

She slides a hand along his thigh, ending at his zipper. "Yeah, evidently you like it a lot," she laughs again.

"I like you a lot." He lowers himself in another push-up, lips brushing her neck this time. She throws her head back and presses her hips up against his. "Not fair," he says.

She laughs, low and throaty, and slides a hand up inside his shirt.

"Two can play at that game," he says. He inches her shirt up, fingers skimming across her skin and the lace of her bra. She shivers. He slides an arm under her knees lifting her up and tossing her easily over his shoulder as he rises to his feet.

'Raylan!" She yells through more laughter. "Put me down!" He has one arm pinned, but she flails at him with the other and kicks her feet. He smacks her butt with one hand, still holding her securely with the other as he heads down the hall toward the bedroom. When he tosses her on the bed, she gapes up at him breathless.

"You are so bad," she says.

"No," he grins at her. "I'm good. I'm very, very good."

"Oh, yeah? Prove it."

And he does.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"This is some of the prettiest country I've ever seen," Wayne says as they look out the huge window at the lodge. "You'd think mountains were mountains, you seen one, you seen 'em all, but these sure are different than Kentucky."

"Yeah, they are," Raylan says.

Wayne's phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. "I need to take this, just a minute." He moves away and Raylan steps up to stand behind Winona at the window, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"I checked at the desk and they've got a few openings, but we'd need to decide soon. You like it here?"

"Do the rooms have fireplaces?" She tips her head back to look at him.

"Yep."

"And jacuzzis?"

"Yes, those, too," he laughs.

"It's nice here. Quieter than the other place." The first resort they stopped at had three bars and a dance club in the lodge. It was loud and raucous, even in the middle of the day. Fun, but not really what they were looking for in a honeymoon.

"I'll go make the reservations," he says.

"Where's my father?"

"He got a phone call," Raylan says, pointing to where Wayne is standing talking animatedly into his cell.

He's smiling, walking towards them. He says "Yeah, me, too. See you soon."

"Who was that?"

Wayne shoves the phone in his pocket and rubs his chin. "Well...," he flushes.

"Daddy?"

"I..." he fumbles. "Shoot, 'Noni, I may not have been a hundred percent truthful with you but hear me..."

"I should have known," Winona says, shaking her head.

"Wait now, Darlin'," Wayne says. "Give me a chance to explain."

Winona turns her back. "Don't bother," she says, walking back towards the entrance.

"Dammit," he sighs, looking at Raylan who hasn't said a word.

"Give me a minute with her," he says. He follows her down the hallway but she's nowhere to be seen. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and hears the ladies room door click shut. "Crap," he mutters. He looks both ways up and down the hall. "Oh, what the hell." He pushes the door open and follows her in.

"Raylan?" She's leaning against the sink arms crossed in front of her. She purses her lips together. "You can't be in here."

"Why?" He gestures to the empty stalls. "It's just you." He steps in front of her. "I know you're upset, but look, we can't _leave_ him here, so you're going to have to deal with him. You might as well listen to what he has to say."

Her head falls forward into his chest. He puts his hands on her shoulders and they stand together for a few moments. "Come on," he says. "Let's go talk to him. How bad can it be?"

They find Wayne staring out the window. It's starting to snow, lightly, and the view is even more spectacular with the flurries drifting down. Raylan points to an alcove with a fireplace and several chairs. "Why don't you guys sit down?" He looks at Winona. "I'm gonna go make those reservations."

Winona sits, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "Who is she?"

Wayne leans forward, hands on his knees. "I started going to AA about four years ago. It didn't take at first," he sighs. "I fell back on old habits more than once." He stares over Winona's shoulder, out the window. "I tried to get your mama to come with me. I thought that together, well, maybe we could lick it...but she wouldn't even try it. Not one meeting." He looks down at the floor then scoots to the edge of the chair and meets her eyes. "I met Jaylene at AA. last year She's been sober six years, but her husband had died about six months before we met and she wanted the support. We're friends, 'Noni. That's all. For now anyway."

"So what did you mean when you said you weren't truthful with me?"

He shrugs. "I guess I felt like I'd kept this from you and I don't want us to do that anymore."

"I'm sorry I got mad," she tucks her hair behind her ear. "I'm glad you have someone to talk to."

"And I'm glad you have Raylan. He's a good man."

"I know."

"You take care of each other, now."

"We will, Daddy."


	24. Chapter 24

"How many fucking properties do these guys own?" Brett tosses another file on top of the growing stack.

"I've got six in Tooele County; three single family, one eight unit apartment building, a storage facility and a strip mall. Four houses in Juab, and a dozen here in the Salt Lake area, along with another strip mall," Raylan says, rubbing his eyes.

"Add five more houses to Salt Lake," Brett sighs. "And another property in Tooele." He throws out a file. "This one might be worth checking out."

Raylan opens the folder and glances at the photos. "It's just a warehouse," he says.

"Looks like it," Brett agrees. "But look at this." He reaches under the photos and pulls out two papers. "It's listed as 'unoccupied' on his tax return but look at the electric bill. Awfully high consumption for an empty warehouse."

"Yeah, that is pretty high."

"Same thing with the water bill."

"So whaddya think he's usin' it for?"

Brett shrugs. "No idea, but checkin' it out gets us out of here. My vision's getting blurry from all this reading."

"You have a point."

They're on their way down in the elevator when Brett smacks his shoulder. "We gotta go back up. Chuck wants us to take vests, remember?"

"Aww. You really think we need to?"

"I don't want to find out we do and not have 'em." He hits the button for the next floor and they take the stairs back up to grab the vests. "You ever get a decent one for yourself like I told you to?"

"Not yet," Raylan says.

"I'm tellin' you, those government issued things'll barely stop a BB gun." Brett says, slipping on his own. "Here," he opens an adjacent locker. "Use Dan's. He's about your size. He won't care. Anything happens, you can just buy him a new one."

Raylan rolls his eyes, but he takes the vest Brett holds out and puts it on, shrugging back into his jacket.

In the car, he complains again. "It's hard to drive in this damn thing. I got no range of motion. Should've waited until we got there to put it on."

"What are you? Twelve? Quit your bitchin'." Brett laughs.

It takes a good forty-five minutes to get to the warehouse. Tooele is beginning to become an appealing bedroom community for Salt Lake, and there is construction everywhere. The warehouse sits well out to the west of the development though, in an unpopulated area. They can see one lone ranch house down a side road to the left as the warehouse looms, long and gray, ahead of them. There's a chain-link fence with barbed wire strung across the top surrounding the structure's gravel lot, with NO TRESSPASSING and PRIVATE PROPERTY signs hanging at intervals.

"Well, we can walk the perimeter at least," Brett says. "Even if we can't go in."

"If we hear or see somethin' suspicious we can always call Chuck, try to get a verbal."

Brett snorts. "'Round here, those aren't likely. Reeve's got some influence and the AUSA hasn't made a lot of friends."

They park and circle the property, eyes scanning for anything out of place. Piles of trash and brush lie along one side of the fence, blown there by the wind. That wind is blowing cold now, and Raylan is glad for the extra layer the vest gives him, for warmth if nothing else. A glint of metal in one heap of debris catches his eye. He pokes at it with the toe of his boot. "Hey, what was the license number on that car the wife saw?"

"I'd have to ask Chuck."

"Better give him a call. There's a plate here. It's pretty banged up, but it's readable."

Brett gets Chuck on the line and verifies the number. "Well, if they dumped the plates, it means they don't know she already got the number, which is good for her. She may be safe for now," the Chief says. "I doubt the plate is enough to get us a search of the whole property though. Bag it up and bring it in. Anything else look suspicious out there?"

"We'll keep looking," Brett tells him.

They continue their slow walk around the building. There are windows high on the wall along one side of the structure, covered from the inside with black paper faded from the sun. The windows in all the doors are covered as well.

"They sure don't want anybody seein' inside," Raylan says.

"Nope." They've both had their guns out, cautious, but now Brett holsters his. "Without getting inside, we're not gonna find anything," he sighs. "Damn."

"Takes time to build a case like this. What'd ya think we were gonna come out here and blow the thing wide open?" Raylan laughs.

"It'd be nice though, wouldn't it?" Brett muses. "To have something fall in our laps for once."

"Sure it'd be nice, but it ain't happenin' today." They get back in the car and drive the border of the property one last time but there's nothing to see, at least not outside. Raylan turns the car back onto the main road his hands loose on the wheel.

"What about that ranch house up here?" Brett says. "It's not on any of the property listings, so it must not belong to Reeve. If the folks who live there aren't part of his group, maybe they've noticed something."

"You wanna stop?"

"Might as well since we're already here," Brett points out.

The house sits farther back from the road than it first appears. Raylan steers the car up the long gravel drive and parks. The house looks abandoned. Weathered paint is peeling from every visible surface and the porch steps sag, badly in need of repair. Blinds are pulled all the way down on all the windows except the one flanking the door. The glass in that is dirty and smudged.

They mount the steps and Brett knocks. Raylan stands, shifting from one foot to the other, glancing in through the unshaded window. He sees a figure move and waits, watching until he sees it again. "There's someone in there," he says.

Brett knocks again. "Well, whoever it is, they aren't answering."

"I'll walk around back; check things out." He pushes the hat father down on his brow and lays a hand on his gun.

The side yard is a mass of untended bushes and overgrown weeds choking the cement path. He's stepping carefully and scanning the shaded windows at the same time for any sign of the person inside. As he rounds the corner into the back yard there's a loud crack and a flash. A massive weight smacks into his chest and takes his breath, knocking him to his knees. Stunned, he acts on instinct, flattening himself to the ground and dragging in a breath that burns like fire. He sees Brett out of the corner of his eye, hears him say something unintelligible, then there's another crack and Raylan watches him fall.

_A/N Thanks to ICanStopAnytime for her helpful information on bulletproof vests._


	25. Chapter 25

The ground is hard and cold. Every breath tears through his lungs like broken glass. It's more pain than he's ever experienced and he's grateful when the blackness takes him. When awareness returns his body tenses against every breath. It's a draw as to what hurts worse, breathing, or not breathing. _Brett. Shit. He's down._ Raylan remembers. With effort, he raises his head and spots the other marshal several feet away, turned on his side. His leg moves. _He's alive. But where is the shooter?_

A screen door bangs and footsteps approach. Slowly, painfully, Raylan reaches for the gun, closing his hand around it. He has to stop, bracing himself to take another agonizing breath. Before he can draw or attempt to get into any kind of defensive position, a panicked voice breaks the silence.

"Shit!" A male voice moans. "Shit, shit, shit!" Large boot-clad feet stop inches away, pacing back and forth.

"Oh my God! What did you do?" Raylan hears a second voice, this one female and young.

"I shot them. What does it look like? Shit! Oh God, I shot two people. What're we gonna do now?" The feet continue to pace back and forth near where Raylan lies still unable to move.

"Are they dead?" The girl's voice again.

"I don't know. I don't think so." A hand shakes him gently. "Hey, mister?" All Raylan can do is groan in answer.

"He isn't dead. Check the other one."

"Jemmy?" The girl again, voice shaky. "I think they're cops. This one has a badge."

"U.S. Marshals." Brett moans.

Relief floods through Raylan at the sound of his voice.

"Shit. We gotta get out of here."

"Mom said not to leave no matter what." The girl says. "She said she'd be back."

"That was two days ago. We gotta call 911 and we can't be here when they get here. If we are you know they'll find us." He kicks a rock and it skitters across the hard-packed earth. "Shit."

"Mom said they'd never look this close. She said..."

"He knows all the cops, Rachel. Shut up...just _shut up_ and let me think."

"Who?" Raylan manages to choke out the word. "Who'll find you?" A face appears as the girl squats down, large brown eyes in a pale, drawn face framed by dark curls. She can't be more than fourteen or fifteen.

"You okay? We're sorry, really, Jemmy, he thought you were..."

"Who?" Raylan asks again, sucking in air painfully.

Her lips flatten into a thin line, but her chin trembles. "They didn't want us to leave."

"Rachel, I said shut up!"

Raylan pushes to his knees and the boy jumps back. He glances to his right and sees Brett struggling to a sitting position, clutching his shoulder. Blood seeps from between his fingers.

"Look, let us..." Raylan starts.

The kid has the gun out now, pointed at Raylan, but his hand is shaking.

"Put the gun down, son," Brett says. Raylan turns his head. Brett is up on one knee now, gun in his good hand, pointed at the kid. His other arm hangs useless at his side, shirtsleeve drenched in blood.

"Jemmy..._please_?"

"Just put it on the ground," Brett says.

The boy sets the gun down and sinks to the ground, head in his hands. He drags a sleeve across his face when he looks up. His eyes are red. Raylan manages to scoop up the gun and get part way to his feet. Brett is there to help him up the rest of the way as Jemmy and the girl look on. Raylan can see now that they're _both_ kids. The boy doesn't look to be that much older than the girl, sixteen, maybe, all gangly arms and legs and a nose too big for his face.

"I'm really sorry. I thought you were from the Covenant."

"That Jameson Reeve's group?" Brett asks.

"It's what he calls it now," Rachel nods. "Before that it was the Remnant, and a long time ago they were just the Followers. He changes it all the time; to keep the government on their toes, he says."

"You gonna call the cops?" Jemmy asks.

"We _are _the cops." Raylan says. "But, yeah, we're gonna call our boss. Not the locals. Yet."

"Don't you need an ambulance?" The girl asks.

Brett presses his hand against the wound in his shoulder and winces. "I can wait. But it might be a good idea to go inside." He looks at Raylan. "Can you walk?"

"Sure I can walk," Raylan says, but when he goes to take a step his chest explodes in pain and he doubles over.

"You're gonna have to help him," Brett says. He leans in closer to Raylan. "Bet you're glad you wore that vest now."

Raylan just looks down at the hole in his jacket and back at Brett. "You're shot," he says.

"No shit," Brett says. "I'll live."

Walking between Jemmy and Rachel, Raylan makes it into the house. He sits on a hard-backed chair at the table and Brett takes one of the chairs across from him. Rachel goes into what looks like a pantry off the kitchen and comes back with a towel. "It's clean," she assures him. He thanks her and presses it to his shoulder.

"Now tell us what's going on," Brett says. Jemmy looks at Rachel and nods and they both start talking.

Raylan holds up a hand. "One at a time," he suggests. He points to the girl, who seems to have her wits about her. "You first."

The story told, Brett calls Chuck, who makes it there in less than thirty minutes. Jemmy and Rachel are taken into protective custody and Brett and Raylan are taken to the hospital in Salt Lake, with Raylan protesting all the way.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Trina is the first person Winona sees when she rushes into the Emergency Room, Wayne right behind her. He insisted she was too upset to drive herself, and she has to admit he's probably right.

"I was here when they came in. He's fine," Trina assures her.

"What about Brett?"

"The bullet went right through his shoulder, at the top of his arm. They're prepping him for surgery to do some repairs, but he's going to be fine, too." She hugs Winona. "They're okay. Everything is alright." Her hug is strong, but her voice wavers and when she lets Winona go her eyes are teary.

"I need to see him," Winona says. "Where is he?"

Wayne steps up and puts a hand on Winona's shoulder. "You want me to find a doc?"

She'd forgotten he was there. "Yes. No. Wait. Daddy, this is Trina, Trina, this is my father, Wayne Griffiths."

"Nice to meet you. Wish it was under different circumstances," Wayne says. Trina smiles.

"There you are," Katie comes around the corner. "He's right back here."

Winona is glad Katie and Wayne met the night before. She's not really up to more social graces. "Is he really okay?"

"Yep. You can take him home. We're all done. The x-rays were fine. There's nothing for him to do now but rest. Maybe an ice pack. He's gonna be sore for awhile." Katie talks quietly and touches Winona's arm as she walks her down the hall.

Katie leads her to the exam room and pulls back the curtain. Raylan looks up when she comes in.

The bruise is the first thing she sees. It starts in the center of his left rib cage. It's a raised lump of dark purple, already almost black at the center, spreading out in spirals of blue and green and yellow like some obscene blossom.

"My God, Raylan." She can't help gasping as he gingerly shrugs into his shirt.

"I'm okay." He reassures her. "That's why we wear vests."

"You got shot!"

"Yeah, but..."

"If you hadn't had the vest..."

He pulls her close to his good side and kisses the top of her head. "But I did. I'm okay."

Later, after Wayne drives them back to the apartment and says his goodbyes, Raylan dozes on the couch with his head in her lap. She lifts the cold compress covering his chest carefully and inspects the wound. It's right below his heart. Without the vest, he'd be dead. Without the vest, it wouldn't have been his voice on the phone asking for a ride home from the emergency room where Chuck insisted on taking him for x-rays. In all likelihood she would never have heard his voice again.

She shivers, even though it isn't cold. Her throat is dry and it's hard to swallow. Her heart feels like it's going to knock right out of her chest. She's been _**so **_stupid. No, not stupid, naive. She's never thought of Raylan's job as all that dangerous, not like a real everyday cop. Even with the few stories he'd told her, even with shooting that guy in the diner, until today, being a U.S. Marshal seemed old fashioned and quaint. Marshals didn't walk a beat in a bad neighborhood or respond to 911 calls. They did prisoner transfers and confiscated property and occasionally tracked fugitives. You don't get shot doing any of that. _Unless you do._

He stirs and reaches for her hand. Shushing him, she runs her fingers through his hair until he settles again. She watches him sleep, not bothering to wipe the tears that course down her cheeks.


	26. Chapter 26

"You're awful quiet," he says, grabbing another slice of pizza out of the box. It's his third piece and she's still picking at her first. "Not hungry?"

"Not really," she says. She curls one leg under her and finishes her beer, setting the bottle on the table.

"You okay?"

She nods, slowly. "I'm just...tired." She gives him a smile, but her eyes are sad and worried, the same as they've looked for the past two days. She's called in sick to work, even though he told her he'd be fine on his own. All she's done is hover as he moves from the couch to the bed and back. His chest feels like he was beaten with a sledgehammer and it still hurts to breathe. The very act of breathing is exhausting, which is probably why just eating pizza has worn him out and he feels like lying down _again_.

"You wanna watch a movie?" She'd picked up some dvds and they'd watched a couple, but there were two or three more they hadn't seen yet.

"I think I'll take a shower," she says. "Maybe when I get out."

He's asleep before she even turns the water on. When he wakes up, he can hear her, evidently talking on the phone, more than likely to Trina. She's called daily with updates on Brett, and if all went well, he should have come home today. Raylan's pushing himself up off the couch to interrupt and see if he can talk to him when Winona's voice stops him.

"Maybe I'm just not cut out for this," she says. "I don't know, but I'm going to have to figure it out soon." There's a long pause and Trina must be talking. "I just can't get past it. I'm trying. I am. But..." He hears sniffling. Winona's crying. "Yes, I love him...but...I just don't know if I can be the wife of a LEO. I just don't think I can do it."

He sits back down on the couch, heavily, leaning his head back against the cushions. _What the hell? _He hears her say goodbye, and a few minutes later she wanders out into the living room in a t-shirt and flannel pants. She curls up in the chair, not next to him on the couch. "We can watch a movie now if you want."

He considers pretending he hadn't heard, but he doesn't think he's that good of an actor. "Were you talking to Trina just now?" he says.

She looks stricken. "Oh God. You heard me? You listened?"

"I didn't mean to, I was thinking I'd like to talk to Brett. Did he get home?"

"Yeah, he's home. He's good." She runs both hands through her damp hair. "Raylan...I just..."

"You don't want to marry me?"

She's quiet. Too quiet. "I don't know," she says.

He swallows hard. "So...where does that leave us?"

"I don't know that, either. I love you...I just...maybe I'm not cut out for this, Raylan."

"Cut out for what?"

She closes her eyes. "Being married to a man who could walk out the door any morning and not come back."

"But...that could happen to anyone...you should know..."

"Raylan!"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't've said that." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. It hurts like hell, but the pain keeps him focused.

"No," she says, her mouth tight. "You shouldn't have."

He sighs. "Do you want me to go?"

"No," she says. Then she takes a breath. "But maybe you should."

"Alright then," he says. "You don't have to tell me twice." He gathers his things, jams the hat on his head, and is out the door before she can protest. He pauses before he slides into the car, thinking the door will fly open and she'll call him back. But she doesn't.

-o-o-O-o-o-

She makes it four days. Four long, miserable days, two boxes of Kleenex, and an entire quart of mint chocolate chip ice cream.

She talks with Trina two and three times a day. There aren't any easy answers but the thing she keeps coming back to again and again is _simple_, if not easy: she loves him. "Then go tell him," Trina says. "Don't waste any more time."

When Winona knocks on his door the fourth night, he opens it immediately, as if he was standing right there, waiting for her. The look in his eyes makes her lose her breath. God, she's missed him. "I'm sorr..." she starts, but his mouth is devouring hers before she gets the word out.

He slams the door shut and backs her up against it, kissing her as if his life depends on it. "Don't ever do that again," he murmurs. She clings to him and they move from the doorway to the futon, falling together, hands tugging at clothing, fumbling with buttons and zippers.

"I won't. I promise." She shimmies out of her jeans and panties, kicking them off onto the floor. "I love you."

She helps him ease his shirt off and meets his eyes as she runs her fingertips gently over the still swollen bruising. "I want a promise, too," she says.

"Well, you sure picked the right time to ask," he says, his mouth against her collarbone, one hand on her breast. "I'd promise anything right about now."

She smiles. "Whatever works. But look at me... I'm serious, Raylan."

"Okay." He stops and raises an eyebrow in question. "What is it you want me to promise?"

She takes a deep breath. "Trina says I can't ask you to be careful, because that _will _get you killed. So I won't. I'll just ask you to remember every time you leave me that I love you and I'm here waiting for you to come home. Just come home, Raylan. Promise me you'll come home." Her eyes swim with tears, but she blinks them away.

He takes her face in his hands. "I promise," he says, kissing her. "And that's enough talking for now, don't you think?"


	27. Chapter 27

Winona is curled on her side, one hand under the pillow, one lying lightly on his chest. Her breathing is soft and regular, her face relaxed in sleep. Raylan watches her in the weak winter light from the window. He should wake her. The clock shows it's almost seven and he knows she has to be at work by nine. She has a few clothes here, but without checking he has no idea if there's anything she'd wear to work. If she has to go home to shower and change she'll really be running late. But he lies quietly and lets her sleep.

He wasn't sure she'd come back, although Brett had been certain. Hearing about things from Trina, he called the next night and took Raylan out for a drink, which turned into quite a few drinks for both of them and ended in Brett calling Trina to come and pick them up, not an easy thing with kids as it turns out. Walt was fast asleep in the backseat, his head lolling to one side, bumping Raylan's shoulder as he slid in. Madeline, however, was wide-awake and howling from her car seat. How Walt slept through that in such a small, enclosed space was a miracle to Raylan. Trina gave Brett an earful as she drove to Raylan's apartment, but evidently something Brett said or did changed the tone of things, and by the time they dropped him off she was giggling and he got the distinct impression Brett was going to get very lucky when they got home, if he didn't pass out first, that is. It made Raylan miss Winona even more, but he held on to what had been Brett's mantra the entire evening, repeated at increasingly frequent intervals as he downed each beer. "That woman loves you. She'll come around."

By some miracle, she did indeed come around, because here she is, back in his arms. He isn't confident either of them can keep the promises they made the night before, but at least they're going to try.

Her eyelids flutter and she stretches against him, warm and enticing. "Mmm...morning," she says, her voice raspy from sleep.

"Morning." He kisses her.

"How long have you been.._up?" _ Her eyes are still closed but her lips curve in a teasing grin. She slides her hand down his stomach and strokes him.

"A little while." He takes a deep breath and blows it out. Reaching down he reluctantly moves her hand away. "It's after seven. You're gonna be late."

"I can be quick if you can." She swings a leg over and straddles him, one hand guiding him into her warmth. "Ooohhh," she murmurs. "I missed waking up like this."

He cups a breast and she leans forward so he can bring it to his mouth. She groans again and wriggles against him. He thrusts his hips slowly in answer. "I missed _you," _he says, releasing her nipple and kissing his way up to her mouth. He rolls, holding her tight to him, so that he's on top, gazing down at her. Despite the need for quickness, he takes his time, tracing the curve of her neck, inhaling her scent, listening to the quiet gasping sounds she makes. She moans his name when she comes, tightening around him, and it pulls him over the edge.

She smiles up at him and he wishes he were better with words or that getting the words in his head _out _was easier. He doesn't know how to tell her that he was lost these past few days and he sure as hell can't tell her that a part of him expected it to end; still expects it, as if any happiness that comes his way must only be temporary. But she reads him so well that looking into her eyes he feels like she knows what he's thinking; what he can't say. She reaches up, brushing the hair from his face and kisses him, soft. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

"I just freaked out...I was so scared."

"Shhh. That's over and done. I'm fine. We're fine and..."

"I can't wait to marry you."

"Impatient, aren't you? Can you wait two weeks?"

"Guess I'm going to have to, huh?" She grins at him.

He smacks her bottom. "Yep. And if you don't get up now, you are definitely gonna be late."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan eases himself into the one of the chairs in Chuck's office and Brett takes the other. "This damn sling," the other marshal mutters. "I hate it."

He moves to take it off just as the chief walks in. "Leave it on, Larson," he says. "It'll take twice as long to heal if you mess with it and I need you back ASAP." He sets his coffee down. "How're you comin' along, Raylan?"

"I'm good."

"You looked awful stiff comin' in here," Chuck looks him over skeptically. "I want you to do some range work before you come back. And go to the doc and get cleared."

"But you're short handed," Raylan says. "I can come back now if you need me."

"I don't need you so much that I want either of you back at less than 100%."

"So what's happening with the kids?" Brett asks. "Any sign of the mother?"

"No," Chuck says. "Right now we can only assume that she is back in the compound. Either by choice or she's being held against her will. We've got no way of knowing." He sighs. "The rest of their story pans out. We talked to Jemmy' s - full name Jeremiah Josiah Fowler - boss at the landscaping company. He says he hires kids from the compound all the time because since they're mostly home schooled they can work hours that other kids can't. They're dropped off and picked up and they're good workers. None of them ever seemed afraid or upset until Jemmy showed up with Rachel and asked for his help."

"You think he's on the up and up?" Raylan asks. "Or could he be in Reeve's pocket?"

"He seems genuine," Chuck says. "He admits to being apprehensive about going up against Reeve, but he couldn't turn the kids away. He gave them a key to the house where you guys found them, it belongs to his mother-in-law who's in a nursing home. He even let their mother borrow his car when she came to bring them food."

"When was the last time he saw her?"

"It'd be almost a week ago."

"Where are the kids now?"

Chuck shuffles some papers on his desk. "Jeremiah Fowler shot two marshals, regardless of why. He's been charged as a juvenile and he's at County JDC. He's got a court appointed attorney...a good one, I checked. Rachel is with a foster family."

Brett pulls at the strap on the sling, trying to make it comfortable. "Do they know the circumstances?"

"Yeah," Chuck says. "It's a family we've used before. Dad's a deputy sheriff."

"The kids seemed close," Raylan remarks. "I'd bet she's pretty upset."

Chuck nods. "She was, but there's nothin' to be done about it. It is what it is."

"Any way to get him out on bail, maybe keep 'em together for the holidays at least?" Raylan asks. "If the foster dad's a deputy..."

"He _shot _you." Chuck says, shaking his head.

"He's a scared kid."

Brett backs him up. "The kid was remorseful right away. As soon as he knew we weren't there to haul them back he was mortified at what he did."

Chuck shrugs. "I don't think the D.A. is going to budge on bail, but go ahead and give her a call if you want. As far as I'm concerned he's where he belongs." He sits down in his chair and opens a file on his desk. "Now get out of here, both of you. Go home. Rest and recuperate. That's an order."


	28. Chapter 28

"I can't believe we let you drag us into that movie," Brett shakes his head, laughing as they walk out of the theater.

"It wasn't _that _bad," Trina says, linking her arm through his good one.

"I liked it," Winona agrees.

Raylan tips the hat back and rolls his eyes. "We could have seen that Will Smith movie instead, or the one about the plane crash."

"_A Simple Plan. _ Billy Bob Thornton," Brett says. "Yeah, that looked good. But nooooo, we had to see _Shakespeare in Love," _he whines. "Couldn't you ladies have seen that on your own? I would have happily babysat."

"Now you tell me," Trina laughs. "Hey, you owed us one after making us watch _The Siege. _I know you boys don't think so, but it's actually quite possible to tell a good story without anyone pulling a gun."

"Or chasing someone in a car," Winona adds.

Brett shakes his head. "You have no sense of adventure. What's a movie without a great car chase?"

"At least the popcorn was good," Raylan says.

Winona punches his arm. "You ought to know. You ate all of ours."

"And the next time we go to a movie, Winona and I are sitting between the two of you. You talked the whole time."

"Don't use your 'mommy' voice with me," Brett warns, teasing.

"Take us to a _good_ movie, with some shootin' and a car chase or two, or a western, they're always interestin'. Then we'll be too absorbed to have a conversation," Raylan says.

"Oh, look," Trina says, pointing. "One of those photo booths." She tugs on Brett's hand. "Let's get our picture taken."

"Forget it," Brett says.

"Oh, come on." She pouts. "All we have anymore are pictures of the kids. The last picture of just us is from before Walt was born."

Winona looks at the booth and back at Raylan. "We don't have any pictures of us at all."

"Hell, no." He shoves his hands in his pockets and shakes his head under the hat. "I'm not gettin' in there."

She stands on tiptoe and puts a hand on his shoulder. "Pleeeease?" She draws the word out. "I'll make it worth it when we get home," she whispers, making sure her lips brush his ear.

His mouth twists into a grin. "Well, when you put it that way..."

They pull the curtain aside and slide into the tight space. Raylan bumps his head, knocking the hat askew. Winona's half on his lap on the tiny bench. She takes the hat and he runs a hand through his hair. "How the heck does this thing work anyway?"

"You put your money in and watch the little light here." She taps it with a finger. "It takes four or five pictures and they come out in this cute little strip." She smiles.

"And just what exactly am I gettin' when we get home that's gonna make this embarrassment 'worth it'?"

"What do you want, Cowboy?" She asks. He leans over and whispers in her ear. She laughs. "That can be arranged."

"Well, alrighty then. Let's get this over with."

They end up doing it again because Winona says he's 'too serious' in the first set and then a third time because in the second two of the pics are blurry. She pronounces the third set perfect, even though he can't see much difference between those and the 'too serious' ones. They step out of the booth and he gives Brett the eye. "Get in there with your wife," he says. "I ain't gonna be the only one humiliated tonight."

"But..." Brett protests.

"Come on," Trina grabs his arm and yanks him into the booth with her. She's happy with one set of pictures.

"You got off easy," Raylan tells him. He leans over to Winona. "We did three sets of those damn pictures...does that mean I get three..."

She gives him the eye and smirks. "Awfully sure of yourself there, aren't you? Let's see what you've got left after one."

He throws an arm around her as he pushes the door open for Brett and whispers in her ear. "_Never_ underestimate me."


	29. Chapter 29

Winona strokes his leg from knee to mid-thigh all during the ride home, well aware of the effect on him. When he pulls into the parking space at the apartment, she smiles at him and slides it farther upwards, but he grabs her wrist before she reaches her goal. "I still gotta walk in. Let's not make that any harder than it's already gonna be."

Winona looks at him, eyes wide, and bursts out laughing.

"Shit," he chuckles when he realizes the double entendre of what he just said. They're both still laughing when they push open the apartment door, but the laughter fades to surprise and a little disappointment when they discover they aren't alone.

"Hey," Katie says from her perch at the counter. "I've been waiting for you guys. I got a question for you."

"Okay," Winona says.

"Would you guys want to live here?"

"Well, _I _already do," Winona laughs. "And Raylan is here often enough that I'm surprised he doesn't get mail."

Katie gives her a smile. "No, what I mean is, would you guys like to take over the lease on this place?"

Winona glances at Raylan, then back to her roommate. "What are you going to do?"

Katie stares down at her hands clasped together on the counter. "I need a change of scenery. This whole thing with Greg, seeing him at the hospital everyday, well...I'm transferring my internship to a smaller hospital in Ogden. They usually won't let you do that, but they're short-handed and really need the help, so they're happy to have me."

"Ogden's not that far," Winona says. "You could still live here."

"I already found an apartment there in Ogden," Katie says. "I just...well, I should've talked to you but..." She sighs. "I know I've been a bitch. It's just, you guys have been so happy and I..." she laughs. "...haven't. Hell, even when you broke up there, for ...what was it? Three or four days? I knew it wouldn't last. I think you guys are stuck with each other." She smiles at Winona. "I knew it when you couldn't wipe the smile off your face that first day after you met him. You were a goner."

Winona blushes and Raylan's mouth turns up in a small smile.

"I should have been a better friend," Winona sits on a stool next to her. "I'm sorry if we made this break-up harder. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Katie says. "So what about the apartment? Do you want it"

"We'll think about it," Raylan says.

"Okay." Katie gets up and fishes in her purse. "If you decide not to take it, we'll owe a penalty since there's another six months until the lease is up. I'll help you pay it." She writes something on a piece of paper and gives it to Winona. "Here's my new cell number; I don't want Greg calling anymore so I dumped the old one."

Winona stands and gives her a hug. "Call me."

"I will," Katie says. "Let me know about the apartment. See you, Raylan."

"Bye." He takes off the hat and sets it on the counter.

Winona sighs and shrugs out of her coat. "That's a surprise," she says. "What do you think?"

"Well, it would give us more time to decide where we wanted to live."

"And we wouldn't have to move right away...well, I wouldn't."

"I don't have that much to move." He shrugs.

She laughs, thinking of the meager collection of belongings in the four rooms of his tiny apartment. "That's true."

He steps in closer. "I think it's a good idea."

"Alright then, that's what we'll do." She wraps her arms around him. "I guess you could start moving in anytime."

He runs his hands up and down her back. "Not tonight. I got a reward comin'."

She laughs into his chest. "Yes, I guess you do."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"My God, Woman," he says. He stares at the ceiling as the after-shocks ripple up his spine.

Winona rests her chin on his hip and looks up at him. "Liked that, did you?"

"My God," he says again. "Where did that come from?"

She grins. "You inspire me." She inches up his body, skin to skin, running her fingers lightly along his ribs. He squirms and she laughs. "Ticklish?"

"Nah, just...wow." He shivers and pulls her in for a long kiss.

"Well, that was _one_," she says, teasing. "Got anything left, Cowboy?"

"Gimme a minute here." He huffs out a breath. "Maybe a few minutes or an hour."

She drums her fingertips on his chest in mock impatience. "You're nothin' but a big talker, aren'tcha?" She grins a challenge.

"What did you say?" He flips over, startling her so she goes flat on her back. He pins her arms at her side and she gives a squeak of surprise. Holding her still, he kisses her neck, right in the curve of her shoulder. She squirms, but he doesn't release her. He moves his mouth down to her breast shifting his weight to keep her pinned. He lingers there, sucking gently until her breath quickens. He moves still lower, kissing the hollow of her stomach between her hips and holding her wrists. He raises his head and watches her, eyes closed, tongue running across her bottom lip.

"'Nona, what do you want?"

"Mmmmm," she murmurs. She twists one hand from his grasp and knits her fingers into his hair pushing him lower. He puts a hand under her knee and hitches her leg over his shoulder, opening her. He takes her right to the edge, then backs off, listening to her gasps, watching her. He does it twice more. Only when she pulls on his hair and moans "Raylan, please." does he let her finish, sliding up and into her while she still trembles.

"Two," he breathes in her ear. He gets a slow smile and a finger in the ribs.

Much later, closer to morning than night, they wake and make love again, slowly, falling back to sleep almost immediately, but not before he wags three fingers in front of her face. "Like I said," he whispers. "_Never _underestimate me."


	30. Chapter 30

The Salt Lake Valley Detention Center (SLVDC) is a long narrow building nestled just outside one of the older suburbs of Salt Lake City. It's new, built in the early nineties and looks more like a suburban high school than a jail; except for the double chain link fence topped with razor wire that surrounds the parking lot, three basketball courts, and the baseball field. Raylan and Brett show their badges to the guard at the gate, park, and take the wide pathway inside.

The visitors' room is more casual and less confining than in an adult prison, but there's no doubt the guards are armed and none of the furniture or other things in the room are breakable. There's nothing that could be used as a weapon. Even the cushions are attached to the sofas and chairs. No danger of being smothered.

The man who leads Jemmy Fowler into the room looks more like a high school English teacher than a prison guard. As it turns out, that's exactly what he is.

"Marshals," he addresses Brett and Raylan. "I hope this is important. You've interrupted our study of Steinbeck."

"We just need to talk to the kid," Raylan says. "We'll have him back to you 'fore long."

English Teacher turns to Jemmy. "One of the guards will bring you back to the classroom."

"Okay." Jemmy is wearing the SLVDC uniform of chambray shirt with state issue jeans. No belt. The first three buttons of the shirt are undone and the collar of his white t-shirt shows. He's pale, and thinner than Raylan remembers, although he probably wasn't in particularly good mind to judge at the time.

They sit at one of the tables. "Doesn't Steinbeck constitute cruel and unusual punishment?" Brett says.

Raylan laughs. "From what I remember It just might."

Jemmy manages a slight smile. "I'm glad you're alright," he says. He looks at Brett, whose arm is still in the sling. "I'm real sorry about your arm."

"It'll heal," Brett says. "But it's a good thing Marshal Givens here was wearing his vest or this could've been a lot worse for everyone."

Jemmy flushes and nods. "I know."

Raylan shoots Brett a look, then focuses on the boy. "You doin' okay here?"

Jemmy glances at Raylan and shrugs. "Not much different than the compound. Do what you're told and you don't get in trouble."

"What's it like there?" Brett asks. "In the compound, I mean."

Another shrug. "It was okay for a while."

"How long you been there?"

'Three years, maybe four," Jemmy says. "Since I was thirteen."

"How'd you get there...I mean, if you haven't always lived there..."

"Mom's a nurse. She met Bruce, that's my step-dad, when he was in Idaho for some job or something. It all happened pretty quick. They got married and then we moved here."

"Does Bruce have other wives?"

"Yeah, sure, two."

"And your mom's okay with that?"

"She wasn't at first. But..." he stops talking and stares at the table. "I'm not supposed to talk about this stuff."

"Look, would you like to see Rachel?" Raylan asks.

Jemmy's eyes light up. "They said I can't. No visitors under eighteen unless a parent brings them...and since Mom is..." he looks down. "They won't even let me call her."

Brett leans in. "Tell us everything you can think of about the compound and we'll see what we can do about getting you a visit with your sister."

"Okay," Jemmy says. "I guess it doesn't matter anyway. It's not like I'm going back there."

"You said your mom wasn't okay with the other wives at first?"

"Bruce hadn't told her about that, just that everyone lived all together and shared chores and stuff. So she was upset he lied to her. She and the other lady who came back with us..."

"What other lady?"

"Paula. She married Neil."

"She have kids?"

"Uh huh, two girls. One's Rachel's age, and the other one is younger."

Brent looks at Raylan and raises an eyebrow. "Jemmy, think for a minute. How many women with kids have come to the compound since you've been there?"

"I dunno," the boy says. "A few. Dean and John both have new wives and they both have kids."

"Girls?"

Jemmy closes his eyes and when he opens them, there's a realization on his face that makes him look older than his years. "Shit."

"Yeah," Raylan says.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"So let me get this straight," Chuck leans his bulk back and the chair creaks. "You promised this kid a visit from his sister - a visit that's against all the regulations and which I have no idea how we're going to arrange - to get him to tell you more about the compound and now you think Reeve and his men are marrying women with young daughters to give themselves a stable of indoctrinated future wives."

"That about covers it," Raylan says.

"Whose lame-brained idea was it to go talk to the kid?" Chuck asks, but it seems he thinks he already knows since he's looking at Raylan and not Brett when he says it. "And even if your suspicions are true, what are we supposed to do about it. Ever since the goddamn ATF screwed up at Waco..." he shakes his head. "I need to make some calls. Stick around. I might have something for you two to do."

-o-o-O-o-o-

The A.D.A crosses her legs and writes something down on the pad in front of her. She sighs. "God, I hate it when you all screw with a perfectly good case. I mean...it's open and shut...the kid shot two Federal Law Enforcement Officers."

"I really wish people would stop reminding me about that." Raylan sighs and fiddles with the Stetson on the table. He's itching to put it back on. It gives him a feeling of being concealed that's appealing in moments like these.

"Yeah, well, facts are facts," she says. "And I'm not sure about..."

"Look, Allison," the young public defender says. "I happen to know from personal experience that you've made deals with people a lot worse than this kid. He's remorseful and motivated to help the Feds. Hell, I'm surprised they're even giving you a choice here."

"So am I," Chuck says. "And that window of opportunity may close at any time."

"It's Christmas," Brett says. "Let him see his sister."

"Alright," she says. "I'll arrange a visit. But I want in on this. I don't want some snazzy Federal Prosecutor coming in and getting all the glory when we take down Jameson Reeve."

"Don't put too much pressure on this kid," Raylan says. "He isn't going to bring down Reeve all on his own. He knows stuff, maybe enough to get us some warrants...after that, well...who knows?"

The attorney gathers her things and stands. "I'll let you know about the visit. I'll try to get it arranged before next week." She shakes hands all around and makes her exit.

The defense attorney pulls a notepad out of his briefcase. "Can I ask the two of you a few questions about the day of the shooting?"

"Sure," Brett says.

"Let's see," he starts. "You came to the house after you weren't able to access a nearby property owned by Mr. Reeve; is that correct?"

Raylan answers. "Yeah, there's a warehouse out there, but no way in without a warrant."

"What made you stop at the house where my client and his sister were staying?"

"We didn't know who lived there," Brett says. "I thought they might have noticed something odd, something that could give us reason for a warrant to go back and look around."

"Um hmm," the young man nods and makes a note. "So, who knocked?"

"I did," Brett says. "Why does that matter?"

"When you knocked, Marshal Larson; did you identify yourself as a U.S Marshal?"

Brett looks at Raylan and then at Chuck who sighs and looks away.

_Shit. _Raylan thinks.

"Marshal? Did you identify yourself?"

"I might not have," Brett admits.

"You _might _not have, or you didn't?"

"I don't believe I did."


	31. Chapter 31

"Ohhh! I love it!" Winona says, smiling as she turns in front of the mirror in Trina's bedroom. The court dockets are practically empty leading up to the Christmas holiday and since she's caught up on her transcriptions the judge told her to take the afternoon. She twirls again and the blue gray silk swirls around her legs ending just above her knees. "You weren't kidding. It does fit like it was made for me. Thank you!"

"No problem," Trina says. "I had fun doing it." She sighs as she watches Winona. "I used to have a waist."

"You still do," Winona says. "You've got a great figure."

"You mean I've got boobs," Trina laughs. "At least they make my waist look smaller."

Winona glances down ruefully. "Not long before I met Raylan, Katie fixed me up with this doctor she met at the hospital. He was cute, and nice and all, but on the third date he told me his college roommate was a plastic surgeon and he could get me a great deal on breast implants."

"You've got to be kidding me?" Trina gasps. "What a jerk! What did you say?"

"Not much, but I have to admit I thought about it, for a minute or two anyway," Winona laughs. "Then I excused myself to go to the restroom and never went back."

"Good for you."

Winona looks back in the mirror. She lifts her hair up into a twist at the back of her neck. "Up or down?"

"It's pretty up," Trina says. "How does Raylan like it best?"

"Down."

Trina laughs. "Brett's the same way. I say wear it up for the ceremony and tell him he can take it down later." She winks.

"I love the dress, really," Winona says again. "Thank you."

"What are friends for?" Trina smiles.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"So what did you get Raylan for Christmas?" Trina asks.

Both kids are napping and they're curled in opposite corners of the couch in Trina's family room sipping an indulgent afternoon glass of wine. The Larson's Christmas tree is decorated and there are a few presents under it, but nothing in the stockings hanging on the railing leading upstairs.

She and Raylan don't even have a tree yet and Christmas is just over a week away.

"He's hard to buy for, that's for sure," Winona says. "Raylan doesn't really seem to need _things_. He hardly ever mentions anything he'd like to have. I got him a shirt, and a couple of Neil Young CDs because he turns him up anytime he comes on the radio. Other than that…" She shrugs. "I'd like to get him something more but I don't know what. What did you get Brett?"

"We're going on a cruise in February for our anniversary. That's our Christmas this year." Trina says. "But I got him a few little things."

"I thought about a watch. The one he wears is old and all beat up…but maybe it means something to him and he doesn't want to replace it. He's never said."

"He'll like anything you get him." Trina says. "Hey, what if we take one of the pictures from the other night and blow it up to fit in a frame. He could put it on his desk at work."

Winona remembers the starkness of that desk, the absence of anything remotely personal. "I like that idea,' she says. "I like that a lot."

"We can go when the kids wake up." Trina says. "Do you have the pictures with you?"

"They're on the fridge at the apartment."

"We'll stop by and get them. The place I'm thinking of is out that way anyhow."

Walt wanders in a few moments later and they end up loading a half-awake Madeline into the car seat. She's asleep again before they're out of the driveway.

"You realize I've never seen your apartment?" Trina says.

"I guess that's true. We should have you over now that we're staying there." She tells Trina about Katie and her decision to move to Ogden.

At the apartment, Trina is appalled at the lack of decorations. "Where's your holiday spirit?" She laughs. "I know exactly where we're going after the photo shop."

Sure enough, after they've chosen the picture and arranged for it to be enlarged and framed, she drags Winona to three department stores and a greenhouse, insisting she pick out lights, ornaments, candles, and a wreath for the door. Walt is astonishingly well behaved throughout the shopping spree. "Santa," Trina confides. "I _love_ Santa."

"That gives me an idea," Winona says. She grabs a Santa hat off a rack and waves it at Trina, grinning. "You think Raylan will like this?"

"Oh, I think it depends on what you wear or don't wear with it," Trina laughs. "You know, I think I'll get one, too."

In the parking lot, Winona stares at the packages loaded into the back of the van. "What am I going to do with all of this stuff?"

"We'll get your place all decorated but the tree…you guys should do that together your first Christmas. You can take turns wearing the Santa hat." Trina shoots her a grin. "But watch out for pine needles. They're prickly. I speak from experience."

When they're finished, Winona has to admit the place looks cheerier.

"What's in these boxes?" Trina asks, pointing to three copy paper boxes stacked by the door. "They weren't here earlier."

"Oh, that's probably Raylan's stuff. He must've dropped it off. He said he was going to swing by the apartment and pick up the rest of it. He brought his clothes and some other things over this past weekend."

"This is it?"

"Yeah, that's probably all of it. The apartment was really small and I told you he doesn't seem to need many things."

"Wow. The basement of our first place was full of Brett's things. What about his furniture?"

"The place was partially furnished and we don't really need the futon." She shrugs. "I guess he's just leaving the rest."

"You're lucky. I had to live with a mustard yellow fake leather recliner for two years before I could convince him a new one would be just as comfortable."

"There's no toys here," Walt says, evidently bored with driving the one toy truck he brought in and out of the maze of boxes and bags scattered on the kitchen floor. He peeks into the carrier and pokes at Madeline, who's sleeping again.

"I know," Trina says, scooping him up before he can wake his sister. "You've been such a good boy!"

"Santa see me?" He asks, eyes wide.

"You bet he does." Trina winks at Winona over the top of Walt's head."We'd better head home and start dinner."

"Sketti?" Walt says hopefully.

"We'll see."

-o-o-O-o-o-

The first thing Raylan notices when he comes into the darkened apartment later that evening are the lights strung across the archway between the kitchen and the living room.

"Hey Cowboy." Her voice startles him. He looks to the couch, blinks, and looks again.

"Nice hat," he says, walking toward her.

"I thought you might like it."

"I like the rest of the outfit even better." He shrugs out of his jacket and drops it onto the chair.

"What outfit?" She smiles up at him.

"Exactly my point."


	32. Chapter 32

Despite the argument from Jemmy's attorney that the charges against him should be dropped due to Brett's failure to identify himself as law enforcement, the judge sides with the prosecutor. The deal the D.A. strikes with Jeremiah Fowler in exchange for information and future testimony will keep him out of adult court, but puts him in juvenile detention until the age of twenty-one, with the possibility of time off for good behavior. Since Jemmy is still six months from his eighteenth birthday though, the court refuses to proceed without parental consent to the agreement.

"All attempts must be made to contact the mother before we will consider appointing a guardian or allowing Jeremiah to make decisions on his own behalf." The Judge says. She turns to address Jemmy. "Young man, you seem to understand the seriousness of these charges and I am sympathetic to your desire to see your sister. While I'm not inclined to grant the defense's request for a supervised furlough, I am willing to arrange for her to visit you. I'll suspend the need for parental permission and allow the foster parents or an officer of the court to accompany her." She closes the folder on her desk. "Merry Christmas."

-o-o-O-o-o-

On the advice of his attorney, Jemmy goes ahead and gives the A.D.A. the information they need to go for warrants for the warehouse and four of the houses in the compound, including the one Jemmy and Rachel had been living in with their mother and step-father.

"What judge did you draw?" Chuck asks the A.D.A.

"Jividen." The look on his face says it all.

"Good luck," the chief says. "You're gonna need it."

"What's up with Jividen?" Raylan says as he and Brett exit the courthouse.

Brett sighs. "He's a hardass both ways. He's known for harsh sentences, but he holds law enforcement to an extremely high standard, too."

"You think we'll get the warrants on what Jemmy gave us?"

"I don't know. My best guess is; it's not likely."

"Well, shit," Raylan says. He shoves his hand in his pocket and fishes for the keys. "That seems like a lot of work for nothing. At least Jemmy will get a visit with his sister out of it."

"Yeah, there is that," Brett says. "Let's go get something to eat. I'm starving."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"No dice on the warrants," Chuck tells them when they come back from lunch. "But I've got something else for you to look into." He motions for them to come into the office and shuts the door. "Fowler's attorney stopped by a few minutes ago. Seems he asked Jemmy if there was anyone else who'd left the compound lately. Kid gave him names of three folks who've left in the last year that he remembers: Olivia Jacobson, Carl Atkins, and Lena Matthews. Dan just left to see the Jacobson woman, according to the DMV, she's living in Ogden. Atkins seems to have disappeared. No listings for him anywhere, no driver's license, no income taxes filed."

"Sounds like he might have been 'disappeared' on purpose," Brett says.

Raylan leans in the door frame, fiddling with the hat. "Not necessarily. Just because he doesn't leave a paper trail doesn't mean he's dead. Remember, a lot of these folks aren't too keen on the government to begin with and like to be under the radar."

"We're not going to worry about him right now, anyway." Chuck hands Raylan a file. "Lena Jacobson took her two daughters with her when she left. There's no sign of any of them either, but her former mother-in-law lives here in Salt Lake. You two go see what you can find out from her."

Raylan glances at the information clipped to the front of the file as they head out. " Carol Matthews; Eight-fifty-four Windside Circle. This isn't far from Winona's apartment."

"Your apartment too now, I hear," Brett says. "All decorated for Christmas and everything."

"Yeah, that was a surprise."

"Nothing wrong with an early visit from Santa now, is there." There's a note in Brett's voice that implies he isn't just talking about the decorations.

Raylan's face flushes and he shakes his head under the hat. Sometimes Brett is a lot like his wife. He's never been one to participate in these kinds of innuendo-laden conversations about private things, so he keeps it simple. "You might say that."

"Ho, ho, ho." Brett laughs.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Mrs. Jacobson lives about a mile from the apartment complex on a street new enough that most of the trees don't reach the tops of the houses. Eight-fifty-four is a split-level with tan siding and green shutters. The lawn is neat and the bushes lining the front are trimmed and free of fall leaves. There's a wreath on the door.

Raylan rings the doorbell. The woman who answers looks to be somewhere between fifty and sixty, with short, no-nonsense, salt and pepper hair and wire rimmed glasses. She's wearing a jogging suit and running shoes and looks fit enough that it doesn't seem to be a fashion statement. It's Brett who addresses her first.

"U.S. Marshals, Ma'am," he says. "If you're Carol Matthews we'd like to talk to you about your former daughter-in-law, Lena? May we come in?"

Introductions are made and badges shown. She moves aside to let them in and they follow her into a small living room dominated by a gorgeous Christmas tree decked in white and gold. Brightly wrapped presents in the same color theme are piled beneath the tree. She sits on the overstuffed couch, leaving the two armchairs facing it for Brett and Raylan. "Why are you looking for Lena?"

"Well, we're ..." Raylan begins.

"It's that _cult _she was in, isn't it? Well, she's not there anymore. She doesn't know anything about what's goin' on there now and neither do her girls."

"Yes, we know she left," Raylan says. "We were hoping you might know where she and your granddaughters are."

"I don't know." She shakes her head.

He's not sure why. Maybe it's a gift. Maybe it comes from eighteen years with Arlo's lies, and his mama always covering up for Arlo's lies, and everyone in Harlan basically pretending that everything was fine over at the Givens' place, but he's pretty good at spotting a lie and he'd bet a good amount that Carol Matthews is lying right now. He slides his gaze sideways to Brett, who picks up on it.

Brett coughs several times and clears his throat. "Mrs. Matthews, could I bother you for a glass of water?"

"Certainly, Marshal. I'll be right back." She rises easily and goes through an archway into the kitchen.

Raylan walks to the tree and squats to look at a package, lifting the tag. "Do we know the girl's names?"

"Crap, the file is in the car."

"Go check if one of them is named Haley." He scoots back to his seat right before she returns with Brett's water.

"Where's your friend?"

"Car," Raylan says. "Cough drops."

Brett slips back into the room and nods to Raylan. "Thank you," he says, taking a sip of the water.

"So, Mrs. Matthews, you don't have any idea where your daughter-in-law and granddaughters are?"

"No."

"When was the last time you saw them, Ma'am?"

She doesn't answer right away. "A couple of months ago, right after she left that place. I haven't seen them since." She stares down at her hands clasped in her lap.

"So, are you just keeping the Christmas presents until you _do_ see them? I see there's one here for Haley."

Her head snaps up so fast that he swears he hears a crack. "You had no right to..."

"Plain sight, Ma'am," Brett says. He softens his tone. "You do know where they are, don't you?"

"Yes," she nods. "She made me promise not to tell _anyone._ She's _so _frightened. She just wants to keep her girls safe."

"We want to help. We can offer them protection. But she has to talk to us," Raylan says. "Will you tell us where she is?"

"No," Carol shakes her head. "I can't do that. But I'll tell her what you've said. This has to be up to her."


	33. Chapter 33

"I love you, too, Daddy. Merry Christmas. Yes, I'll tell him. Bye." Winona hangs up the phone and pushes a stray strand of hair behind one ear. She leans on the counter with her chin in her hand. It's the afternoon of Christmas Eve, their first one together, and Raylan's in the shower, getting ready to go pick up that girl and take her to see her brother in jail. They'd argued about it when he came home from the shooting range. He'd told her that with the foster dad working and the mom unable to leave the smaller kids, this was the only way the promised meeting was going to happen before Christmas. Chuck and Brett both have kids of their own to deal with, so he'd volunteered.

"He's helped our investigation a lot," he'd said. "I like the kid."

"You like him? He _shot _you."

"He was – _is_ - just a scared kid, Winona."

At that point her phone rang and she'd been relieved to be interrupted by her father.

"Hey." Now, Raylan walks into the kitchen, hair dripping, towel around his waist. "Was that your father on the phone?"

"Yes. He said to tell you 'Merry Christmas'."

"How are things?"

She knows he means her mother. "I didn't ask."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Have you called home to wish Helen and Arlo a Merry Christmas?" She's well aware that he hasn't, and she knows she's being snide, but he's being a hypocrite, so she figures they're even.

He wisely changes the subject. "Did you thank your father for the bourbon?"

Wayne had sent a case of several varieties of Kentucky bourbon to Raylan with a west-bound transport driver a week or so ago. It had been quite a surprise when the semi stacked with cars had pulled up across the street from the apartment complex and the burly man with a familiar accent dropped off the box.

"Um hmm. He said he wasn't sure what you liked so he mixed it up."

"That was thoughtful, considering."

"Yeah, he said just because _he_ can't enjoy it anymore doesn't mean no one should. He sent us another package, too; regular mail. He seemed disappointed we hadn't gotten it."

"I was thinkin' in the shower," Raylan says. "No reason why you have to sit here and wait for me. Why don't you just ride along? We can get dinner on the way back."

"Is that against protocol?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, really. This whole thing is playin' kinda fast and loose. I'm just takin' her out there and dropping her back off at the foster home. It's on my own time. It's not like I'm workin'. Who cares if there's someone else is in the car?"

"It would be better than sitting here alone."

"Well, then, let's get dressed and we'll go. I'm supposed to be there around four."

"I am dressed," she points out. "You're the one standin' practically buck naked in the middle of the kitchen." She laughs and makes a grab for the towel but he backs out of her reach with athletic grace.

"You start somethin' now and we'll never get there by four."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Rachel's foster mother, Janis Lambert, is harried, but kind. She's wiping her hands on a dishrag when she opens the door. A small boy, maybe two, hides behind her leg. "Thanks for helping us out," she tells Raylan. There's a box sitting beside the door, and she gestures to it. "Rachel says he likes to read, so we put together a box of books. Bill, that's my husband, he was finished with them. God knows I don't have any time to read. Hopefully there'll be something in there to interest him."

Raylan hopes the deputy doesn't favor Steinbeck. "I'm sure he'll appreciate 'em."

"She's a good girl, not one bit of trouble, and helps with the younger ones, too. I think she's too scared to do anything but what she's told." Her eyes are worried.

"Things were pretty strict there from what Jemmy's said." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other in the entryway as they wait for Rachel.

"She was doin' something with her hair," the woman says. "I'll see what's keeping her." She disappears down the hallway. A few minutes later she comes back with the girl. Rachel is dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt with GAP emblazoned across the front. She doesn't meet his eyes. Unruly brown curls are pulled back into a ponytail but around her face the loose strands look like a halo.

"Marshal Givens is going to take you to see Jeremiah," Mrs. Lambert says. "He'll bring you back after, and I'll keep supper, okay?"

"Okay," Rachel says, her voice small.

In the car he introduces Rachel to Winona. She mumbles "Nice to meet you," and doesn't say another word all the way to the SLVDC.


	34. Chapter 34

Winona watches the girl slide into the back seat. Rachel clutches a book and several envelopes in her hand. Her face is tear-streaked, and Winona fishes in the glove compartment for a tissue as Raylan shows his I.D. once again to the guard at the gate. It's started snowing, and he maneuvers the car carefully onto the narrow road.

"Thanks," Rachel says, taking the tissue Winona hands back to her.

"You okay?" Raylan asks.

She nods. "I just miss him, that's all." She stares out the window.

"They're lookin' for your mama," Raylan says. "They'll find her."

She doesn't say anything more until they pull up in front of the foster home. "Mom would never leave us or stay away if she knew Jemmy was in trouble. Something's wrong."

Winona slides her eyes towards him and watches Raylan's face. His jaw has that hard set to it, and she knows his mind is puzzling, trying to fit the pieces together. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. The radio is playing Christmas music

"What do you think?" He asks Rachel, keeping his gaze in the rear view mirror. They've parked under a street lamp and the car is lit with sharp yellow squares of light falling through window.

"I try _not_ to think about it," Rachel says.

"But when you do...?"

Winona wonders why he's pushing the poor girl. She nudges him and gives him a look. He looks back at her, shakes his head and holds up a finger.

"I think she's dead," Rachel says, flat. "I think she wouldn't tell them where we were so they killed her. "

"You really think they'd do that?" There's a note of suspicion in his voice as if he doubts the girl, when Winona knows he doesn't. She watches and listens now, fascinated. So this is how he does what he does.

Rachel shifts uncomfortably. "It's not like other people haven't disappeared," she mumbles.

"Like Haley and her family?"

Rachel's eyes go wide. "How'd you know about Haley?"

"Your brother told me about some of the folks who've left the compound. I spoke to her grandmother yesterday. I figured you were about the same age. Is she your friend?"

Rachel nods.

"Haley's okay."

"She is? You're sure?"

"Yep."

"Did you see her?" Rachel is leaning forward now, her hand on the back of Raylan's seat.

"No, but her grandmother knows where she and her mother and sister are. Hopefully, we can help them. Do you know why they left?"

Rachel shakes her head, but even Winona can tell she's lying.

"Look, if Haley is safe, maybe your mama is too. Maybe she's afraid they're watchin' her and she knows you're safest right where you are."

"You think so?" Her voice is soft, but hopeful.

"Could be." Raylan fishes in his pocket and comes up with a card. He writes a number on the back. "You hear from her, or need anything, or think of something else to tell me, you call. I'm gonna be out of town for a few days, so if you can't reach me, call Marshal Larsen. He's the other Marshal that was at the house."

"The one who got shot in the arm?"

"That's him."

"Why are you being so nice to us?" She asks.

"Your brother knows what he did and he's sorry," Raylan said. "It was a mistake. Everyone makes 'em."

"Thank you for taking me to see Jemmy."

"You're welcome."

She looks at Winona as she opens the car door. "Merry Christmas."

"You, too, Rachel," Winona says. She wonders though, how this can possibly be anything but a miserable holiday under the circumstances.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You're awfully quiet," Raylan says as they pull out of the subdivision onto the main road.

Winona turns in her seat as much as the seat belt will allow. "That's a nice thing you did for those kids. I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time about it."

He takes his eyes off the road for a minute to look at her. "I'm sorry, too. I'm kinda used to doing whatever I want and not checking with anyone else. Guess that's gonna change."

His eyes go back on the road, but he takes her hand and squeezes it.

They find a tiny restaurant in a plaza that's still open and eat spaghetti and salad and warm bread. Winona having a second glass of wine and Raylan's nursing a beer when his cell phone rings. He glances at it and clicks it off.

"Who was that?"

"No one." He slips the phone into his pocket.

Winona swirls the wine in her glass and gazes at him with those wide blue eyes that seem to see into his very soul. "Who was it, Raylan?"

"Helen." He tips the bottle back and drains it.

"It's Christmas," she says. "Why didn't you answer?"

He fiddles with the hat on the table and ponders her question. He's not sure he has an answer other than not answering was the easiest thing to do. "Come on, let's go home."

He pays the check and she follows him out to the car. "What if your mother called? Would you talk to her?" He asks.

"My daddy did call, and I talked to him," she reminds him. "It wasn't Arlo calling you, right?"

The thought of Arlo picking up the phone to call his son and say 'Merry Christmas' almost makes him laugh. "Not likely."

"She loves you, Raylan," Winona says softly. "Maybe she just wants to hear your voice and know you're alright."

"Aww hell," he says. He pulls the phone out of his pocket and pushes the buttons.

"Ye-ah," Arlo's voice comes over the line. Raylan listens to the man breathing almost two-thousand miles away and pushes the 'end' button.

"No answer."

"Um hmm." Winona shakes her head and he can tell she knows he's lying. "Whatever, Raylan. You do what you have to do." She turns her head and looks out the window. Straight ahead there's a church, bright and glowing in the darkness. Cars are turning in and people huddled against the cold are making their way into the building.

"Maybe we could go," Winona says.

"Go where?"

"Here. Raylan, turn in."

"To church? You want to go to church with a bunch of strangers?"

"No one cares if you're a stranger on Christmas Eve," she says, wistful. "We used to go every year. Didn't you go to church?"

"When my mama or Helen dragged me there, sure," Raylan says. "But not voluntarily."

"Please?"

He looks down at his jeans and boots. "Not really dressed for it, am I?"

She points out two men walking in with the same thing on. "I don't think it matters. It's Christmas Eve."

He pulls in and parks the car and she links her arm through his as they walk in. The lights are dim, candles line the aisles, and most of the pews are full. An older couple, white-haired and stooped, scoots over to make room for them. "You just sit right here," the woman says to Winona. "Look at them, Frank. Oh, to be young and in love again."

"What's that Gladys?" The man leans in and she repeats herself. "We may not be young, but we're still in love," he says. He kisses her cheek and winks at Raylan.

Winona squeezes his hand. When he looks at her she smiles. "They're sweet," she says.

"You and me in fifty years?" He grins at her.

"I hope so."

The service begins, mostly carols and Bible verses so familiar even he could recite some from memory. Winona sings along with some of the carols, her voice thin and sweet. The pastor's sermon is mercifully short, and to his surprise no one accosts them as they're leaving. They're back in the car headed for home in just over an hour.

Once inside the apartment, he unloads his pockets, pulling the cell phone out to plug it into the charger. Winona leans against the archway, arms crossed over her chest.

"Why not try again?" She says. "Maybe someone's home now."

"You aren't going to give up, are you?" Sighing, he picks up the phone and pushes the buttons again. This time the voice that answers is thick and raspy from cigarettes. He swallows hard. "Hey," he says after a long moment. "It's me."


	35. Chapter 35

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

He leans on the counter with both hands staring at her. "What did she say to you?"

Winona smiles and shakes her head. "You stood right there the whole time listening. You're smart enough to figure out what _she _said from what _I _said." He hangs his head and she rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, Raylan, she didn't tell me any secrets about you."

He follows her into the living room, still looking worried. She turns, hands on her hips. "Is there some embarrassing story from your youth you're afraid she revealed in the five minutes she talked to me?" She's being mean teasing him like this, but it's so rare to see him flustered that she can't resist. "Did you write love notes to your fourth grade teacher? Were you Prom King?" She taunts, impishly.

"Winona..." his voice is practically a whine.

"She told me to make you happy," she says softly. She moves close and puts her arms around him, molding her body to his. "And I told her I intend to do just that."

-o-o-O-o-o-

The lights of the Christmas tree twinkle in the dark living room. She stretches and reaches onto the floor, pulling the blanket up over them. Raylan stirs beneath her and she brushes the hair from his face and kisses him.

"Merry Christmas," she whispers.

His arm goes around her. "Is it morning?" He asks without opening his eyes.

"No, it's still dark. I don't know what time it is."

"You wanna go in to the bedroom?"

"I like it here. The tree is so pretty." She's lying half on top of him on the narrow couch and now she moves her thigh, rubbing it against him suggestively and lowers her mouth to his ear. "Unless you're uncomfortable."

"Didn't you get enough last night?" The corner of his mouth turns up but his eyes remain closed.

"Oh, Honey, don't you know by now? I can never get enough of you."

When they wake again later, sunlight is streaming through the window. Raylan strokes her back and she lifts her head to kiss him. "Now it's morning."

"Merry Christmas."

"Do you want your presents?"

"I think I already got a couple."

"I did let you unwrap early, didn't I?" She grins at him.

"Twice."

"Well...you didn't exactly have to unwrap the second time." She holds the blanket around herself and walks over to the tree. "Let's see what Santa brought."

"I hope Santa wasn't watchin' last night 'cause you were pretty naughty."

She laughs. "Well, I'd say you were a _very _good boy. Here. Catch." She tosses him a square box and he catches it in midair. "I hope you like it."

She watches him tear open the package as she slips into her discarded pajamas. She plops back down on the couch beside him as he takes the lid off the box.

She'd been happy when she picked it out, anxious for him to open it. Now, though, she's unexpectedly nervous, hoping the gift doesn't seem impersonal. "The saleslady tried to talk me into one of those heavy silver bands, but I liked the leather better. It looked like you."

He holds up the watch. "It's great, thank you." He leans in and kisses her. "Your turn." He doesn't bother covering himself with the blanket, he just strolls naked to the tree and picks up an oblong box. He sets it in her lap and pulls on his boxers and jeans.

The box is fairly heavy and she can't imagine what's inside. She slips the ribbon off and rips through the paper. She stares at the metal case. It looks oddly familiar, and she remembers her explorations of the drawers in Raylan's old apartment. She feels his eyes on her as she clicks the clasps open.

"A gun? You bought me a gun?" She really shouldn't have worried about the watch being impersonal. She hadn't been expecting some kind of romantic present, Raylan isn't that kind of guy, but the gun strikes her as an odd Christmas gift and she can't help laughing slightly as she looks at him.

"It's a .22," he explains. "It's what I should've started you with in the first place. The 9mm was a mistake. It had too much recoil and made you flinch. This is smaller and it'll fit your hand better and there's practically no recoil..."

She holds a finger to his lips. "Okay. That's good. Thank you."

"We can go to the range later."

"On Christmas?"

"Sure. It's open 365 days a year."

"You're kidding."

He shakes his head. "At least it is when you've got a key. The guy who owns it is a friend of Chuck's, since we keep odd hours he gave us all access codes so we can go anytime." He notes her doubtful expression. "What, you don't want to go?"

She laughs full out. "It's fine, Raylan. I'm sure it will be a wonderful way to spend Christmas afternoon."

He cocks his head and looks at her. "You bein' sarcastic?"

"A little," she admits. "But honestly, I'd rather be at the shooting range with you than anywhere else alone or with someone else. This Christmas is much better than last."

"Where were you last Christmas?"

"Oh, I went home with Katie, but Greg was there and I felt like a third wheel all day. Her parents were nice and all, but..."

"I was workin'."

"On Christmas?"

"Brett invited me but I didn't want to horn in on his family, so I caught up on paper work. Did some'a his, too." He smiles at her. "You're right. This year is better."

She puts a hand to his face. "I love you."

There are other presents, the shirt and CDs for him, for her, a pair of earrings from the same shop where he bought the birthday necklace, and some perfume she'd tried on at the mall that he'd liked. She saves the picture for last. She doesn't tell him that the photo she chose came from the first rejected strip. Winona had vetoed the shot because they weren't looking at the camera. Trina pointed out that they were looking at each other and pronounced it perfect.

Raylan is silent staring at the picture.

"It's for your desk at work."

He nods and swipes a hand across his mouth, then pulls her close and buries his face in her hair.


	36. Chapter 36

The range is on a quiet road about five miles from the apartment. Not surprisingly at three o'clock on Christmas Day, the parking lot is empty. Raylan unlocks the door and punches in the security code. It takes the old florescent lights in the entry a few minutes to come on. Once they do, Raylan's all business. He walks over to a long table and opens the case.

"Show me how you load it."

"We already did this three times back at the apartment."

"Show me again."

The gun _is _easier to handle than the other one she practiced with. She goes through the steps Raylan showed her again while he looks on. "There." She says, making sure the safety is on before she hands it to him.

"Good." He takes the gun and empties it. "One more time."

"Oh for God's sake, Raylan!" He's ticked her off so this time she does it twice as quickly as before. He nods and smiles but she forgets to put the safety on and has to listen to his speech about how to treat the gun as if it's always loaded and never point it at something you don't intend to shoot.

"I'm about to shoot _you_."

He smirks at her. "Nice. Let's try some targets instead. You can _pretend_ they're anyone you'd like."

Winona would have taken the first spot, but he keeps walking and she follows him down the aisle until he finds the row he prefers.

"You use this one everytime you're here, don't you?"

"Yeah, so?"

She laughs and kisses his cheek. "You're so predictable." She watches his face as he files that observation away.

He gives her the pair of ear protectors he brought and pulls another pair off the hook on the wall.

"Don't put 'em on yet. When you do, this little knob here lets you hear me, okay? You remember your stance?"

She does, but decides it would be more fun to have him show her. "I'm not sure. Like this?" She stands in front of him, deliberately keeping her legs too close together.

"No, you gotta spread your legs more, balance your weight."

"I love it when you say that." She looks back over her shoulder at him. "The first part, anyway."

"Funny. You're real funny." He slips the ear protectors on and motions for her to do the same. "But keep it so you can hear me."

He slips his arms around her from behind, lining his up with hers, steadying her grip. "Okay, now, you ready?"

She nods her head, but then wriggles her backside against him, just to feel his involuntary response.

He backs away and rips off the ear protection. "Come on, Winona. Are you gonna be serious or screw around?"

"Sorry," she says, but the giggle that escapes at the end makes the apology seem less than sincere. When she looks at him though, he really seems irritated, so she apologizes again. "I'm sorry. Really. I'll behave."

He takes a step closer, leans down and kisses her, then moves his lips to the curve of her jaw, her throat and finally her ear. "Pay attention now and when we get home, you can screw with me all you want," he murmurs.

"Promise?"

"Promise," he says. "Now look at the target and aim at center mass...that's the middle of the target."

"Center means middle. I think I've got that."

There's an exasperated sigh and he's back in teacher-mode. "When you squeeze the trigger use steady pressure. If you jerk it, it'll throw your aim off."

"Okay."

"When you start pulling the trigger, just keep pulling it steady until the gun goes off." He reaches up and turns the knob off and the only sound she can hear is her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

He's still behind her with his arms steadying hers, but it's her finger on the trigger. She stares at the target and slowly puts pressure on the trigger. When the gun goes off, it startles her and she jerks back against him.

"You closed your eyes."

"I didn't."

"Yeah, you did. That's okay, lots of people do that at first."

"Did I hit the target?"

"Not exactly." He laughs. "It's alright, it just takes practice. Try to time firing with your breathing. Take a breath, exhale half of breath, then fire a round."

They do it over and over again, stopping to reload four or five times. She loses count of how many shots she's taken. She's stopped closing her eyes, evidently, because there are actually a few holes in the target. Raylan has backed away and watched her from both sides and the back. This time when she raises the gun, her arm shakes and she sees him motion to her.

"That's enough for today, I think. You're gettin' tired. I'll fire a few and then we can go home."

He shoots quite a bit more than she would call 'a few' but she enjoys watching him. He's completely absorbed in what he's doing and the holes that appear in _his _target are dead center.

"How long have you been shooting?" He's finished and they're putting things away. He reminds her to check to make sure the gun is empty and she does, twice, fitting it into the case and latching the lid.

He shrugs at her question. "We always had shotguns. I used to shoot tin cans and squirrels when I was a kid. Everyone went huntin', too."

"Who taught you to shoot? Arlo?" She wonders if there might be one or two pleasant memories of times with his father.

Raylan closes his own case and slaps the hat back on his head. "He probably showed me the first time, I don't remember. He wasn't patient enough to be very good at it. Helen's a better shot. That's rifles, though, everyone has a rifle in Harlan. More'n likely two or three. I didn't shoot a pistol till I was in high school. Johnny Crowder had one, took it off some kid in a fight. Didn't your Daddy hunt?"

She shakes her head. "He wouldn't have a gun in the house. He said they were dangerous."

Raylan gives a dismissive snort. "Guns aren't a problem if people know how to use them."

"Unless they use them to hurt someone." She holds the door open as he punches in the security code.

"Listen, that's more about the _person_ than the gun. If someone wants to hurt someone, even in the heat of the moment, they'll find a way to do it. There are plenty of weapons in any home; knives, hammers, lamps, electrical cords..." He must notice the look on her face because he curtails his list and swings an arm around her, pulling her close. "I want you to learn how to use a gun properly because it'll make you safer, okay?"

"Okay."

He opens the car door for her and she slides in. He stashes the guns in the trunk and slips behind the wheel, turning to look at her. "So it wasn't an awful Christmas present?"

"No, it was kinda fun."

He looks at her skeptically. "Really?"

"I liked watching you shoot your gun," she says looking up at him. "It was kinda sexy."

"Just kinda? Gee, and I brought you here thinkin' that might improve my chances of gettin' laid."

"Cowboy, the only way you could improve your chances of gettin' laid at this point is to shoot naked."

He laughs out loud.


	37. Chapter 37

"Aren't you getting married in, like, an hour?" Chuck asks as he passes the desk where Raylan is bent over a file.

"I just asked him the same thing," Brett snorts.

Raylan glances at his watch. "More like two, but...what else is there to do?" He shrugs and scrawls a note. "I wanted to get some things down for Brett before I leave in case Rachel calls."

"How was the girl?"

"Fine. Quiet. Happy to see her brother."

He takes a step back and leans on Raylan's desk. "What did they say to each other?"

"I didn't stick around and spy on 'em. I waited in the lounge for her to come out."

Chuck gives him an odd look. "Why?"

Raylan sighs. He can't exactly tell Chuck he went back to the lounge so Winona wouldn't be sitting alone. "I didn't wanna intrude. They were both cryin' when they saw each other, so I just left 'em alone. Bad enough there's a guard in there listenin'."

"She talk to you at all in the car?"

"A little. Turns out she's friends with the Matthews girl, Haley? The one whose grandmother we talked to? Rachel was happy to know we think they're all right. I'm pretty sure she lied when she told me she didn't know why they left, but I gave her my card and wrote Brett's number on it in case she calls while I'm gone."

"Good," Chuck nods. "I hope she does." He starts to walk away then turns back. "Hey, you want a drink? I know you're a whiskey man and all I have here is scotch, but hell, a drink is a drink, right? Join us, Brett?"

"I don't…" Raylan starts.

"Come on, you don't get married everyday." Brett's up out of his desk in an instant. "You can choke down some scotch."

In the office the chief opens the cabinet and pulls out a bottle. "_Johnny Walker Blue_," he says. "Thought all scotch was the same until my father-in-law started me on this. Gives me a bottle every Christmas. Smooth as silk." He pours three glasses and holds one out to Raylan. Brett takes the other.

"To love, marriage, happily-ever-after, and all that," he grins, then adds. "To being fortunate enough to find good women."

"I'll drink to that." Brett says. He clinks his glass against Raylan's.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona twists a strand of hair around her finger and leans out of her office and peers down the hall for the third time. "Where can Trina be?" She asks Katie. "She said she'd be here by twelve-thirty and it's almost one. We're supposed to be in Judge Clarrett's chambers by one thirty."

"I don't know. Did you call her?"

Winona shakes her head. "I forgot to charge my cell. It's dead."

"I'm sure she'll be here." Katie tugs at the skirt of her dress. "I'm way too used to wearing scrubs all the time," she says. "Are you nervous?"

"No, not really, I'm ready to get this part over with. It just feels like a formality. Since he's moved in, I feel like we're already married."

"Still, this makes it legal and all." Katie's gaze is steady. "You sure about this? I remember how upset you were when..."

Winona interrupts. "I'm sure. I love him and he loves me. It'll be fine."

"Okay, I just..."

"I'm sure, Katie, really."

The phone rings, but it's not Trina. It's another court reporter with a question about the next week's schedule. Winona pulls out her calendar and gives the woman the information, then sinks down into the chair and leans her head back, closing her eyes.

"Breathe." Katie says. "I thought you weren't nervous."

"I'm not nervous about marrying Raylan, I'm nervous about where Trina is."

Katie paces the office, stopping at the window. "She's a redhead, isn't she?

"Yes, why?'

"With two kids?"

"She was dropping them off at her mother's."

"Evidently not."

Winona gets up and moves to the window and Katie holds the blind back so she can look out. Trina is hurrying across the parking lot across from the courthouse in her heels, Madeline clutched to her chest and Walt struggling to keep up. At the corner, she scoops Walt up in her other arm and crosses the street where they lose sight of her.

"Something must have happened with her mother."

There's a knock on the door and Judge Clarrett's' clerk sticks his head in. "Leslie's ready whenever you are. Her luncheon got out early."

"We'll be right there," Winona says.

She and Katie make their way down the hall just as Trina comes off the elevator. Walt trails behind, his little fingers busily punching buttons on an electronic game of some kind that beeps and buzzes in response.

"I am _so_ sorry," she says to Winona. "It's been a helluva crazy day."

"That's alright, I'm just glad you're here. I was afraid you weren't going to make it."

Trina reaches for her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. "I wouldn't miss it for anything."

A door opens ahead of them and Winona gets a glimpse of Brett and Raylan waiting in the judge's outer office.

Brett sees Trina and bursts out into the hall. "What happened? Where've you been?" Brett asks, taking her arm and steering her into the judge's chambers. "Why do you have the kids?" He takes Madeline, who's wide-eyed but quiet, so that Trina can slip out of her coat.

"Mom's got that flu that's going around," she says. "I tried all our other sitters, but with the holiday, everyone is out of town or busy. I didn't have any choice but to bring them." Walt has evidently won his game because the sound of bells playing a happy tune fills the office. Trina opens her purse. "Walt, give me that."

"I wanna play my game," he whines. "Santa gave it to me."

"You can play it later, Sweetie," she tells him. "Right now I need you to put it in Mommy's purse."

"No!" Walt says. His little face is red and tears threaten. "It's _mine_! I wanna hold it."

"Please just give it to me," Trina tries again. Walt just shakes his head, lower lip trembling. A lone tear makes its way down his cheek.

"Hey, Walt." Raylan squats down in front of him. "I have a job for you."

Walt cocks his head and stares at Raylan, one chubby hand still clutching his game.

"It's an important job." He reaches up and takes off the Stetson. "I'm gonna be busy here for a few minutes. Would you hold my hat? You gotta use both hands now. Don't drop it."

Walt looks up at his mother and wordlessly hands over the game. Trina slips it into her purse. He reaches out for the hat and Raylan turns it over and hands it to him carefully. "Hold it by the brim, just like that," he says. "Good. You're a big help, Buddy. Thanks a lot. I didn't know what I was going to do with it."

Trina gives Raylan a grateful smile and he winks back.


	38. Chapter 38

"You ready?"

"I'm _more_ than ready, Cowboy."

He smiles. "Okay then, let's do this."

The ceremony is brief. There's a moment of surprise for Winona when Raylan slips the ring on her finger. It isn't the plain band they'd picked out. This one has tiny diamonds equally spaced all around. It sparkles in the light. She meets his eyes, questioning but he just raises an eyebrow and shrugs one shoulder.

The judge sticks to the script and the whole thing is over in less than fifteen minutes. With the rings exchanged, the papers are signed and it's official.

Trina pulls out her camera and takes a few shots, starting with one of Walt holding the hat and one of him handing it back to Raylan. There are some of the couple, and the judge's clerk is commandeered to take one of all of them.

"I hope you guys don't have to head out right away," Brett picks up Walt, who is happily clicking away at his game again. "We made reservations over at _Isaac's_. I asked Chuck to join us, too."

"We're all packed," Winona says. "It's only an hour's drive. I don't see why we couldn't have lunch first. Raylan?"

"Fine by me."

Brett elbows Trina. "He's learned the secret already."

"Secret?" Raylan looks puzzled.

"Always agree with your wife." Brett laughs. "At least in public."

-o-o-O-o-o-

They lag behind the others on the way to the restaurant, sharing a quiet moment. Raylan takes her hand to look at the ring, and she smiles at him. "That was a surprise."

"Maybe I'm not as predictable as you think I am, huh?"

-o-o-O-o-o-

At the restaurant, the men congregate in the bar to watch a few minutes of the football game on the large screen while Katie and Trina huddle with Winona in a nearby booth.

"Let me see that ring," Trina says. "I thought you said you picked out plain ones."

"We did." Winona shakes her head. "On the way over he said he saw me looking at this one and since I didn't want an engagement ring..."

"Well, it's beautiful," Katie says. She glances at Trina. "Now?"

"Yeah, I was beginning to wonder if you'd remembered to bring it."

"Bring what?" Winona sets her glass of wine down.

"We got you a present." Katie pulls a bag out from under the table.

"Several, actually."

"You wouldn't let me throw you a bridal shower, so Katie and I got together on our own. You can open the envelope on top, but save the other stuff for when you get to the resort."

Winona eyes the two women cautiously. "And why shouldn't I open it all now?"

Katie giggles. "Some things are better left private."

"Oh, God...what did the two of you do?" She pulls out the envelope and tears it open. It's a gift certificate from the resort where they're staying the next four days. "A couples' massage?" she laughs. "I don't think Raylan will go for that."

"It's your _honeymoon_. You might be surprised at what he'll go for," Trina winks and shifts position as Madeline grabs for the colorful tissue paper sticking out of the bag. "God knows he needs to loosen up a bit."

Katie jumps in. "But, if he doesn't go for it, I checked and you can trade that part of the certificate in for something else like a manicure or pedicure. Just get the whole treatment."

"What else is in here?" Winona roots through the bag. Her hand grasps something silky and she pulls it out. "Ooooh." She turns her back to the bar and holds up the camisole.

"There's tap pants to go with it," Trina tells her. "I'd put 'em on and walk around and torture him for a bit."

"In heels," Katie adds, giggling.

Winona blushes and reaches back into the sack, but Trina leans across and pulls the it away, stuffing it back under the table.

"Just wait for the rest. Open it when you get there."

"What else is in there?"

"You'll find out." Katie and Trina look at each other and grin.

-o-o-O-o-o-

They lingered over lunch, then sat talking after for about an hour so that the three whiskeys he drank could wear off. Now they're stuck in holiday-Friday rush hour traffic. Everyone seems to be headed for the ski resorts in and around Provo.

"It's gonna be late when we get there."

"They'll hold the room." Winona turns from gazing out the window.

"They'd better."

"What was Brett talking to you about?" Winona asks.

Brett had gotten a phone call during lunch and when he hung up, he'd been anxious to talk to Raylan in private.

He doesn't answer right away. "Rachel called. She tried me first but I had my cell off, so she called Brett." His eyes slide toward her, gauging her reaction.

"What did she want?"

"He isn't sure. She said she thought of something that might be important. He was going to go talk to her after we left."

The line of traffic thins out as they reach the four-lane highway and Raylan is able to pick up speed. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. "I told him I might give him a call later. Just to see what she said."

"Really? You think you're gonna have time for that?"

He glances at her again, a half-smile on his face. "Why? You got something planned?"

"Only totally monopolizing your time for the next four days." She reaches into the gift bag she's stowed by her feet and pulls out an extremely skimpy piece of lingerie, holding it up briefly before stuffing it back in the bag.

"Nice."

"There's other stuff in here, too."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"I'll show you when we get there."

He pushes a bit harder on the accelerator and she laughs.


	39. Chapter 39

It's almost dark when they get to the resort. The lobby is quiet, with just a few people waiting to check in. There's piano music coming from the bar and a few skiers wandering in from their day on the slopes.

The bellboy takes the bags and they follow him out a side door and down a sheltered path to a cluster of A-frame buildings just behind the main lodge. He stops at the middle one and stands aside so Raylan can open it with the key card. "Extra towels for the jacuzzi are in the cupboard under the sink." He tells them as he holds the door open for Winona. "And there's a free breakfast buffet from six to ten in the restaurant."

Winona walks in and gazes around the suite. It's rustic, with exposed beams and rough-hewn wooden support pillars on either side of the king bed, which is covered with a colorful hand-woven blanket. One wall is dominated by a stone fireplace, already blazing, another by a huge window looking out onto the deck and beyond to the wooded hillside.

The bellboy sets the bags down and Raylan fishes some bills from his pocket for a tip. When the door closes behind the young man, Raylan walks over to where she stands in front of the fireplace, wrapping his arms around her.

"Wow, you fit right in with the decor, Cowboy."

"Is that a good thing?"

"That depends." She looks up at him.

He raises an eyebrow. "On what?"

"On whether you have any objections to fucking me with that hat on sometime in the next four days. Because that _so _needs to happen."

His eyes darken and his hands begin to roam. "I think that can be arranged."

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

He lowers his mouth to hers and takes a step toward the bed, pulling her with him.

"Uh uh." She shakes her head and tugs on his belt. "Here. Right here by the fire. Pretend you're a _real_ cowboy out on the range." She smiles into the kiss.

"What does that make you?" He slides zipper on her dress down and the silky fabric slides off her shoulders. He lets her loose so she can wriggle her arms out of the sleeves. She steps out of the dress and tosses it onto the bed before turning back to him.

"Your wanton half-breed wife."

"Oh, so you've had this little fantasy for awhile, huh?"

She just smiles. "The wife part, anyway. I made the other stuff up on the fly."

"That's right. We're married now. So all this is _mine_." He cups a breast and runs his thumb across the nipple. She moans soft, and works his zipper down slipping her hand inside.

"And all this is mine."

"Think you can handle it?"

She drops to her knees on the carpet. "Watch me."

-o-o-O-o-o-

The room is dark except for the glow from the lowering flames and one streak of moonlight that falls across the floor from the window. Her head is on his shoulder, one leg resting between his. He strokes her thigh and she plants a kiss on his cheek. "You'd better move that hat before it catches on fire," she says, pointing to the spot on the hearth where he had tossed the Stetson when things got frenzied.

He reaches one long arm over and grabs the brim, tossing the hat in an arc onto the bed.

"So any regrets, Mrs. Givens? Although it might be a bit late for that, 'cause I'm pretty sure we just consummated this marriage."

"Oh my God. That's right. I'm Mrs. Givens." She laughs. "_Winona Givens._" She tries it out. "I'll have to get used to the whole name change thing."

"You don't have to change your name if you don't want. It really don't matter to me."

She snuggles closer. "I guess I'm old-fashioned," she says. "I like it. I want people to know I'm married, and who I'm married to." She holds his hand up, twisting the ring on his finger. "I'm glad you're wearing a wedding ring, too. Some men don't like to."

"It suits me fine."

"Oh!" She says, pushing up from the floor. "We didn't even look at the bathroom. She strolls naked across the room and pushes the door open.

"Honey," Her voice floats back out to him. If you're ready for round two we've **_got_**to do it in this shower."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Sometime around midnight, after a romp in the shower and a nap, their late lunch wears off and Raylan dials room service. The woman who answers tells him it's appetizers only at this hour, so on her recommendation they order Portobello fries, a roasted corn quesadilla, some oysters, and a bottle of champagne to wash it all down.

"You really like those things?" Raylan watches as Winona sucks down her third oyster.

"Umm hmm." She licks cocktail sauce off her lips. "You should try one."

"I've tried 'em before. Slimy things."

"But these are really good. And they're an aphrodisiac." She winks at him.

"I think the last couple of hours is proof that I don't _need _an aphrodisiac."

"But we're not through yet. Here." She spears one with the tiny fork, dips it into the cocktail sauce and slips it into his mouth before he can object.

He grimaces but manages to swallow. "Like I said, slimy." He picks up a slice of quesadilla. "This is good though."

"Well, I'm glad you're getting _some_ sustenance." She grins. "You're gonna need it."


	40. Chapter 40

Raylan wakes while it's still dark, reaching over in the too-large bed for Winona, but she's not there. Easing up on one elbow, he sees a strip of light below the bathroom door and waits for her to come out. When she doesn't appear after a few minutes, he goes to check, rapping his knuckles on the door. "Hey, you okay?"

There's no immediate answer.

"'Nona?"

"Don't come in."

"What? Why? Is something wrong?" There's a low groan and a retching sound. "Are you sick?" No answer. "'Nona?" When she still doesn't respond, he turns the knob and pushes the door open. Winona is on the floor in front of the toilet, wrapped in one of the bathrobes from the resort. She looks up, face flushed, eyes red.

"I told you not to come in."

"You're sick."

"I think I must've gotten a bad oyster. I've been throwing up for the last hour or more."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I didn't want to bother you. Besides, there wasn't anything you could do. I think it's over. I don't see how there can be anything left." But she barely gets the words out when she groans again and clutches her stomach. This time there really is nothing there, though, and she sits up and leans back against the wall.

"I told you those things were..."

"Don't worry," she interrupts. "I won't be eating any more oysters. Or drinking champagne either. Ugh."

He kneels beside her, sweeping the damp hair back from her face. Her forehead is hot to his touch. "You got a fever?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Do you get a fever with food poisoning?"

"It might not be food poisoning. I had an oyster and I'm not sick, it could be something else. Appendicitis even. Maybe I should take you to the Emergency Room."

She shakes her head. "It has to be the oysters. Probably just one was bad. I'll be fine. I think I'd just like to lie down now." She pushes up, shakily, and he grabs one elbow to support her. At the sink, he waits while she splashes water on her face and rinses her mouth out.

Back in bed, she curls into a ball under the covers, closing her eyes. He sits gingerly on the bed beside her. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," she says miserably. "I'm sorry." She starts to cry.

"What're you sorry about?" He bends over her, stroking her hair. "It's not your fault. Don't cry."

"But it's our honeymoon and I'm ruining it," she sniffs. "We only have a few days and..."

"Shhh. We were plannin' to spend most of it in bed anyway, right?"

"Ha ha." It earns him a weak smile.

"And I recall saying something 'bout 'in sickness and in health' just yesterday."

"Yeah, but I didn't expect it to apply this soon."

"It's okay. If it's food poisoning, you got it all out and you'll feel better tomorrow. We'll still have three days." He has a thought. "If you won't go to the ER will you at least let me call Katie and tell her what's going on?"

"No, Raylan, I'll be fine. Who knew you were such a worrywart?"

"I'm not a worrywart, I'm cautious. Katie or the ER...your choice."

She sighs. "Call Katie. Her new number is in my phone."

Katie answers on the second ring. After he explains what's going on there's a pause. "It sure sounds like food poisoning to me. And raw shellfish are a common culprit. Do something for me." She tells him where to push on Winona's abdomen.

"Does that hurt?"

Winona shakes her head. "Not particularly."

He relays the information back to Katie.

"It doesn't sound like appendicitis. I'm calling it food poisoning. You should let the hotel know. They'll want to dump that batch of oysters. They may have a physician on call that they'll want to take a look at her. These places like to protect themselves from lawsuits." Katie gives him another number. "I'm on my way into work. Call me at that number if there's anything else. She needs to rehydrate and sleep. Give her water or better yet Gatorade if you can find some; later maybe some soup. She should be a lot better tomorrow. If she's not, then you'd better take her in to the ER."

Raylan hangs up the phone. "She's pretty sure you're right about it being food poisoning."

"Good," she answers, sleepily.

He kisses her forehead. "You get some rest."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona dozes off and on for most of the day. Raylan wakes her a few times to take sips of water. She hears him talking to someone at some point, or maybe she's dreaming. She can't rouse herself enough to be sure.

Just as Katie thought, the resort insists on sending a doctor. By the time he arrives, late in the afternoon, Winona is sitting up in bed and feeling much better. After a brief exam and a few questions, he agrees with Katie's diagnosis of food poisoning.

"I'd say you won't be eating oysters again any time soon."

"Maybe never," Winona agrees.

The manager calls to apologize and comps their room for two of the four nights they had booked. He also offers them a considerable discount on any future booking and offers to send a complimentary dinner to the room.

"Do you feel like eating?"

"Maybe some soup. _Maybe. _Depends on what kind they have." She notices his cell phone beside hers on the nightstand. "Were you talking to someone earlier?"

"You were sleepin' so I called Brett to see what Rachel wanted yesterday."

"And…"

"She just remembered that right before Haley's family took off, she and some of the other girls were gone for a few days. They took them away in a van with the windows blacked out and when Haley came back she wouldn't talk about it."

"What do you think happened?"

He shakes his head. "No idea. Probably nothing good. Brett was going to go back to talk to Haley's grandmother again, see if she made any headway in getting her daughter-in-law to talk to us."

"So you're going to want to call him _again_ to find out what _she _said."

"It can wait," he says. But he doesn't look happy.

Winona decides she's hungry so Raylan orders; chicken and wild rice soup for her and a burger for himself.

"You should have gotten steak since someone else is paying for it."

"But I wanted a burger. How's the soup?"

"Good." She shows him the empty bowl. "Gone. I was hungrier than I thought."

He reaches across the small table and squeezes her hand. "I'm glad you're feelin' better."

"I know would feel wonderful right now."

"What?" He raises an eyebrow and she laughs.

"No, sorry, Honey. Maybe tomorrow. I was thinking of a shower."

"Go ahead."

"Why don't you call Brett while I take a shower?"

"I told you it can wait."

She sighs, shaking her head. "Raylan, you know and I know you want to call him, so go ahead." She bends down and kisses him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." He smacks her behind as she walks past, shutting the bathroom door behind her. When he hears the water start, he picks up the phone and punches in Brett's number.


	41. Chapter 41

"Raylan? Raylan? Honey, wake up." Winona's voice breaks through the haze of his dream and he stirs, rolling over to face her. He cracks open one eye to find her face inches away. "I'm _starving_," she says. He reads the glowing red numbers of the bedside clock over her shoulder.

"It's only five-thirty. The breakfast buffet doesn't open until six." He throws an arm around her and burrows against her shoulder, closing his eyes. "Try to go back to sleep for a few minutes."

"I can't." She shakes her head, her hair tickling his face. "I'm too hungry. You're gonna have to do something."

He sighs, fully awake now and shifts his weight up on one elbow. "Whaddya want me to do? There's no food here."

A slow smile spreads across her face. "Then you're going to have to distract me."

"Oh? And how do you propose I do that?"

"I'm sure you can think of something." She takes his hand and guides him where she wants it.

"Oh." He slides the sheet down as his fingers stroke and explore. "You're really feeling better, aren't you?"

"Uh huh," she murmurs. "But not as good as I'm going to feel here in a minute."

"You got that right."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Ummm...these pancakes are heaven." She swipes another forkful through the puddle of syrup on the plate and pops it into her mouth. The dining room is packed with early risers in ski gear ready to head for a day on the slopes.

He takes a sip of coffee and grins at her from across the table. "Now wait a minute. Not so long ago back in the room you said heaven was my…"

"Raylan! Shhhh," She hushes him, laughing. "Someone will hear you."

"Well, you're makin' about the same sound and I just want to be sure we're clear on what you mean when you say 'heaven'. I'm not sure I like being in the same category as pancakes."

"But these are _excellent_ pancakes." She stabs another piece and holds it out to him. "Here, taste for yourself."

He takes the bite. "Not bad, but still…"

"Hmmm. Well, see, I hadn't had these pancakes _before_ so you may have to do that again later so I can make an honest comparison."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah," she says with a wink. "You up for that?"

"**_I_** am…what about you?"

"I'm just going to lie back and let you do all the work, Cowboy."

o-o-O-o-o-

"Well?"

He hovers above her and she lays her hand flat on his chest feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingers. She pretends to think about it, but she can't keep the smile from breaking at the corners of her mouth. "_Much_ better than pancakes."

"I would hope so."

He rolls off and pulls her close. She nuzzles the crook of his shoulder and kisses him. She can tell he's about to drift off. "Sleepy?"

"I've expended a lot of energy this morning."

"It's almost noon."

"Don't tell me you're hungry again after than enormous stack of pancakes you wolfed down."

"Three. Three pancakes, Raylan. That's hardly an enormous stack."

"You aren't going to let me sleep, are you?" He sighs. His eyes roam the room. "Hey, you never showed me the rest of the stuff in that bag from Katie and Trina."

"Oh!" She bounces up and pulls the bag out from under the chair. "I'd forgotten all about it." Setting the bag on the bed she plops down cross-legged next to him.

"You gonna put some clothes on?" He asks, eyeing her breasts.

"No." She takes the tissue paper out of the bag, wads it up and throws it at him. The camisole is next. "I suppose I _could_ put this on." She slides the silky fabric over her head. It fits perfectly.

"That's nice."

"These go with it." She dangles the tap pants in front of his face.

"They wouldn't stay on long." He takes them from her and tosses them over the side of the bed.

She laughs and reaches back into the bag. "Hmmm. These are interesting." The handcuffs she holds up are heavy, some kind of metal, not cheap plastic, and covered with red velvety padding.

"What the hell?" Raylan says. "No."

"Why not?" She winks. "It might be fun." She watches his face. It's flushed with more than mere annoyance. "You're blushing."

"Never mind."

"Oh." She nods, dropping them back in the bag. "So you've done that before."

His eyes close and he flops back on the pillow with a sigh. "'Nona..."

"Don't worry," she says. "I won't ask you about it." She fishes around in the bottom of the bag and pulls out the last item. "Oh, my."

"What is it?" He doesn't open his eyes. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"It's...um...a book." She scoots up next to him and he sits up, taking it from her.

"_365 Sex Positions: A New Way Everyday for a Year_," he reads the title out loud. "This could be interesting." He flips it open.

She looks over his shoulder. "Wow. What's that called?"

"_'Tribal Rhythm'. **That's**_ day 1? Are these people circus performers?"

He continues flipping through the pages, sometimes turning the book to get a better angle on the picture. The photographs are tasteful, not graphic, and the sex is obviously simulated but there's enough detail to get a fairly good idea of how each position works. There isn't much written explanation at all.

"Look at this one," Winona says.

Raylan turns the book all the way upside down. "That looks like it would hurt." They both laugh. He turns another page. "Now this might be fun...later."

"What? I wear you out, Cowboy?" She takes the book out of his hand and straddles him. "Oooh. Maybe not."

He slides his hands up inside the camisole. "God, you're going to kill me, you know that?"

"It's our honeymoon. We're supposed to have lots of sex. And I have to make up for yesterday." She leans in and kisses him.

He lifts her easily and slides out from under. "Let's save it for later."

She pretends to pout and he laughs. "What do you want to do?"

"Let's shower and get out of here for awhile. It looks like a beautiful day. We can walk through town. Work up an appetite and get somethin' to eat."

"That sounds good."

"Then we can come back here and look through that book some more."


	42. Chapter 42

"'Nona, come look at Day 56."

Laughter drifts out of the bathroom. "Does it involve either of us standing on our heads or balancing on an exercise ball?"

"Nope. I kinda like this one."

His head is bowed to the book when she walks back into the bedroom. She clears her throat so he looks up. "Whoa. That wasn't in the bag."

"No, I picked this out today in that boutique next door to the shop where you were lookin' at all the knives and guns and stuff. You like?"

"I like." He drops the book to the floor beside the bed. "Now take it off."

"You like it, but you want me to take it off?" She smiles, coy, and plays at being confused.

"Slowly."

She walks to the end of the bed, standing in front of the fireplace so the glow from the flames shimmers around her. "Turn the light out."

One long arm reaches over and switches off the bedside lamp. She turns her back to the bed.

"Hey now..."

Sliding one strap down, she looks at him over her shoulder. "You did say _slowly, _right?"

"That I did."

She lets the thin fabric fall further down her arm, pulling the bodice of the short gown with it. Turning slightly, she gives him a glimpse of one rosy nipple. His eyes darken, and his tongue runs across his bottom lip.

"Come're," he murmurs, holding a hand out to her. He meets her eyes and she's powerless to look away.

"I thought you wanted me to take it off." She teases.

"I changed my mind. _I'll _finish takin' it off." He leans up farther, taking her hand, pulling her toward him, still holding her gaze. Mesmerized, she crawls up the bed to him on her hands and knees and he pulls her into his lap. His fingers caress her face, his mouth following. The kisses are light, feathery, tracing the line of her jaw so that she arches her head back, exposing the fine curve of her neck to the same attention.

One hand finds hers, lacing their fingers together as his mouth continues its decent. He sucks at the tender flesh just below her collarbone and she groans, cupping her breast with her free hand and offering it to him. His eyes slide up, watching her as he takes it in, tongue flicking gently. Her fingers tighten around his. The heat they're creating spirals downward and she raises up, tugging down the waistband of the boxers to free him.

"Not yet," he murmurs, pushing one leg up so that she settles her weight on his thigh, the hot pulse of him out of reach. He lifts the hem of the gown and she raises her arms so he can pull it off over her head. It slides from his hand into a silky puddle on the floor.

"Raylan?"

"Um hmm."

"I want you."

He grins at her. "I know."

"I want you _now._"

"Now?"

"Yes."

His hands on her hips, he positions her easily, then slowly, very slowly, lets her drop down, easing forward so she can wrap her legs around him. They move together in a rhythm all their own. "Who needs a book?" He murmurs.

-o-o-O-o-o-

It feels like the middle of the night when he wakes, but the clock tells him it's just past eleven. Winona doesn't move when he eases out of bed. Taking the cell from the nightstand, he goes into the bathroom and closes the door.

He'd heard the low vibration of a call at an earlier, inconvenient time. Now the light tells him there's _two_ messages, so he pushes the buttons for voice mail and waits.

Brett. Still no sign of Rachel and Jemmy's mother, but Lena Matthews has agreed to come in, with protection, and talk to them. Arrangements are being made and they could be trading off on WITSEC duties as soon as New Year's Day.

"Helluva way to end your honeymoon, I know," Chuck says on the second message. "Dan's offered to cover New Year's Day, but I'm gonna need you on this bright and early Thursday morning. No tellin' how long it'll take, but we'll work out some kind of schedule."

There doesn't seem to be a need to return either call, so he closes the phone, turns out the light, and goes back into the bedroom. She hasn't stirred and he slips in behind her, drawing her close, letting her warmth and quiet breathing pull him back into sleep.


	43. Chapter 43

"So you have to go on WITSEC as soon as we get back?" Winona takes a sip of her coffee and sets the mug on the edge of the Jacuzzi. The room service tray with the remains of their breakfast teeters precariously on the other side and Raylan reaches out to steady it.

He nods. "Yeah, looks that way. Chuck says he's going to try to work out a schedule, but it could be awhile before that happens."

"How long is awhile?"

"I don't know, 'Nona, a week, maybe more."

"You can call me, right?"

"I should be able to most every night. If things go well, WITSEC is usually pretty boring." He sets his own empty coffee cup on the tray and leans over to put it on the low table. The cold air chills the sheen of water on his skin and he shivers and slides back into the warm water.

She beckons and he scoots across the bench and leans back against her. Steam rises from the surface of the pool making the deck misty in the early morning light. Snowfall from the previous night lies on the branches of the trees, glistening as the sun makes its appearance. It's a beautiful morning for their last day here and he hated to spoil it with the news of his assignment, but Winona had sensed something was on his mind, so he'd told her about the messages. All in all, she'd taken it better than he'd expected, so far.

Now she wraps her arms around him and rests her chin on his shoulder.

"Well, we have the rest of today and tonight."

"And tomorrow night at home. It's New Year's Eve," he reminds her. "Do you want to do something? We could give Brett and Trina a call."

"I don't know. Let me think about it. This has been wonderful, but it will be nice to be home, too. I have a feeling this is going to be a really good year."

"Me, too." He turns his head and kisses her.

o-o-O-o-o-

"You sure you want to do this?"

"Come on, it'll be fun."

In their morning hike around the resort they discovered that in addition to its numerous ski slopes, there are also three toboggan runs. They've gone down the easiest two, and now they're standing at the top of the third and steepest run, gazing down. "You gettin' cold feet?" Raylan asks.

"My feet aren't the only thing that's cold, Cowboy." She laughs. The last two runs both ended with him deliberately leaning into a curve and tipping them over into a snowdrift. Now she presses against him, shoving her wet-gloved hands into the pockets of his jacket. He tugs her hood up and bends down to kiss her.

"I won't dump us over again."

She looks at him skeptically, and he just grins.

"You goin' or not?" The operator asks, bored. He's a skinny kid of about twenty, with a wide blue streak dyed in his white-blond hair. His nametag reads 'Zach'.

"We're goin'." Raylan gets in and holds out a hand. She takes it and positions herself in front of him, between his knees. She slips one arm under his leg, wrapping it around and holding tight to his calf. He swings one arm around her. "I gotcha. Ready?"

She nods.

"There's a tight curve about half way down, be sure to steer to the right through it," Zach says in a tired monotone. "Stay on the track at all times."

"Will do," Raylan says. Zach and another operator rock back on the toboggan then give it a shove forward and the sled picks up speed down the first steep hill. The other tracks were gentle slopes, but this reminds Winona of the roller coasters Valerie made her ride at King's Island when she was a little girl, only without the safety belts. She clings more tightly to Raylan's leg and wraps her other hand around the side rail. The wind stings her face and she tucks her chin into her chest, hood shielding her eyes. Raylan whoops in her ear as they come out of the first curve going even faster down the mountain. The sharp curve Zach warned them about is coming up. He steers to the right and she screams as her stomach does a flip . They shoot through the curve, hurdling down the straightaway into the snow-covered field below. The sled begins to lose speed, but before it stops completely, Raylan leans hard to one side and the toboggan tips, spilling them both out into the snow.

"Raylan! You promised!" He lands on his back, laughing and she springs to her feet. "Oh, I'm going to get you..." She picks up a handful of snow and hurls it at him, catching him in the shoulder. He sits up and the second handful hits his neck and slides down inside his jacket.

"Hey, now..." he says. "I didn't _promise._" She steps closer and he grabs her ankle, throwing her off balance so that she falls on top of him. He gathers the front of her jacket in one hand, pushes her hood back and pulls her in for a kiss. She relaxes into him and he deepens the kiss, tongue circling hers teasingly. Then, while she's distracted, he tugs the collar of the jacket away from her neck, dumping a handful of snow down her back. Shrieking, she tries to get away, but he holds her fast.

"You are in _so_ much trouble, Cowboy," she mumbles into his jacket as his chest vibrates with laughter. "...So much trouble."


	44. Chapter 44

The weather is clear for the drive back to Salt Lake City early Tuesday afternoon and the road relatively free of traffic. The opposite lanes are filled with cars though, as people head for the slopes for New Year's Eve.

"From the looks of that I'm kinda glad we're goin' home," Raylan says, glancing over at her.

"Me, too. It's going to be noisy and crowded, that's for sure." She yawns and mumbles. "Sorry."

"Sleepy?"

"I wouldn't be if you hadn't kept me up practically all night."

"You didn't seem to be complainin'. Quite the opposite if I'm rememberin' right. In fact, I'm pretty sure I heard the word '_more_' a couple of times." He gives a high-pitched inflection to the word, mimicking her.

She rests her head on the seat back and closes her eyes, her lips curling upwards. "You remember just fine." He drops a hand off the wheel onto the seat and she links her fingers with his. "I love you."

"Back 'atcha." He grins. The cell phone buzzes and Winona clicks it on and hands it to him.

Chuck's voice comes over the line. "Raylan? I hate to do this to you, but you're gonna have to take WITSEC duty tonight. Dan's father's had a heart attack and he's on a plane to Pittsburgh right now. Brett's whole family is down with some flu, even little Madeline. I got no one else. I'm real sorry, Raylan. I hate taking you away from your bride, New Year's Eve and all."

"No, no, it's alright. I understand. It can't be helped." Winona is looking at him quizzically.

"Where are you right now?"

" On I-15 'bout a half-hour from home."

"I've got things covered until about five. Can you be here by then?"

"Five? No problem, I'll be there." He clicks off.

"You've got to go back to work tonight, don't you?" Winona says.

"Yeah." His gaze slides toward her. "I'm sorry. Dan's father is in the hospital and evidently Brett, Trina, and both kids are sick."

"Oh, no. That's awful!"

"We might be havin' a bad New Year's Eve but theirs is worse." He rests his hand on her thigh. "I'm really sorry we can't spend it together."

"Me, too." Her face is turned to the window, her voice so low and quiet he barely hears her. They drive the rest of the way home in silence.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Dirty clothes, packages, and several pieces of luggage in various stages of unpacking litter the bedroom. Raylan emptied his duffel, and now he's filling it again. Winona moves in and out picking up the dirty clothes and tossing them into the hamper.

"Any chance you could do a load of laundry before I have to go? I only have two pairs of clean boxers."

"That's good. Then you'll just have to come home and get some," she says, not looking at him.

"'Nona." He sits on the bed with a sigh. "I don't know when…"

"Sorry. I was trying to be funny. I'll throw some in the washer in a minute."

He pats the spot beside him and she sits, hands folded together in her lap. "Hey," he says, soft. "Chuck'll try to get someone in so we can trade off. Brett'll be better here soon. It won't be for long." He puts an arm around her, stroking her shoulder. "You know this is part of the job, right? It isn't nine-to-five. I'm gonna be away some of the time."

She nods. "I know that. Really, I do. It's okay."

"But it still sucks tonight."

"Yeah," she sighs. "It does."

"I'll call you at midnight," he promises.

"Okay. But it won't be the same." She raises an eyebrow at him.

"We can have phone-sex."

She laughs. "I don't think that position is in the book."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Cleaning always clears her head and pulls her out of the doldrums. It gives her a sense of accomplishment to see things neat and orderly. So, when Raylan leaves she puts the suitcases and packages away, then attacks the bathroom and the kitchen. Most of The contents of the refrigerator have been there since before Christmas and after her experience with the oysters she'd rather err on the side of caution. She fills a garbage bag and carries it out to the dumpster. She'll have to go to the grocery in the morning, but at least it won't be crowded.

She runs the sweeper and dusts the tops of the tables and bookcase in the living room. The thought of taking the Christmas decorations down alone is depressing, so she decides to leave that for tomorrow. She takes a long shower, pulls on sweats and one of Raylan's shirts and curls up on the couch with a bowl of microwave popcorn substituting for dinner. Flicking through the channels, she skips the various New Year's Eve celebrations and settles on _Sleepless in Seattle._ The movie lulls her into drowsiness and before she knows it the ringing of the phone jars her from sleep.

-o-o-O-o-o-

The phone rings three times before she answers. "Is it midnight?"

"Not quite yet. You sleepin'?"

"I guess I was." She yawns. "How is it there?"

Raylan glances around the sparsely furnished living room of the safe house.

"Remember my old apartment?"

"Um hmm."

"This place makes it look luxurious."

She laughs. "It's bigger, though, right?"

"Bigger isn't always better."

"Oh, I don't know about _that._"

He ignores her innuendo."There's just more bare walls and tacky second-hand furniture."

"What are they like?"

"Who? Mrs. Matthews and the girls? Quiet. Scared."

Quiet was an understatement. Lena Matthews was mousey and cringed at the slightest noise or movement, as if she expected something to jump out of the shadows and grab her. He couldn't figure out where she'd ever gotten the nerve to up and leave the Reeve compound. The two girls seemed polar opposites. Haley, the older girl, was pretty in a way that was obviously going to deepen into real beauty as she grew up. She was a little more talkative and the only one who asked any questions. The younger girl, Taylor, was plain and even shyer than her mother. She hadn't said two words to him before retreating to one of the bedrooms with a book.

"What do you do there?"

"Just make sure the place is secure. Do a walk through every so often and walk around outside. Look for anything suspicious; cars, people who look like they don't belong in the neighborhood. Make sure they aren't in contact with anyone. Like I said, if everything goes well, it's usually kinda boring."

"Can you get some sleep?"

"Sure, a little. Probably here on the couch." He glances at his watch. "It's five minutes to midnight."

She's quiet on the other end of the phone, and he wishes more than anything he was there with his arms around her, rather than here in this house of sleeping strangers. But saying it wouldn't change anything and he lets the minutes tick away.

He hears the cheering in the background. She must have the television on. Then her voice. "Happy New Year," she says. "I love you."

"I love you, too. You go back to sleep. I'll call tomorrow."

"Alright, goodnight."

"G'night." He clicks the phone off and does one more walk through the house, checking windows and doors before stretching out on the lumpy couch, hat tipped over his eyes. It's going to be a long couple of days.


	45. Chapter 45

It's a little past five a.m. according to his watch when Raylan pushes up off the uncomfortable couch. He was restless, rolling and tossing most of the night, and now he yawns, runs a hand through his hair and shoves the hat back on. Walking the perimeter of the house, he checks all the windows and makes note of the make and model of the cars parked on the street. Everything seems fine. Back in the kitchen he stares at the ancient coffee maker and wishes there was a convenient deli or gas station where he could snag a cup. Since there isn't, he plugs it in, fills it up and hopes for the best.

The coffee isn't bad. He's standing by the window drinking his second cup by the time he hears anyone else moving about. A door shuts and there's water running. Not long after that Haley wanders out into the living room in jeans and an over-sized BYU sweatshirt.

"Mornin'," Raylan says.

"Good morning." She flops into one of the chairs and pulls her bare feet up, hugging her knees. She stares at him. "Sorry, but I forget your name."

"Deputy Givens."

"What's your first name?"

"Haley, don't be fresh." Her mother's voice from the hallway makes her blush and roll her eyes.

"I wasn't gonna call him by it, Mom."

"I apologize for my daughter Marshal; sometimes she forgets her place." Lena twists a strand of hair around her fingers and slides the other hand into the pocket of her jeans.

"It's not a problem. My name's Raylan, Haley."

She cocks her head. "That's a weird name."

"Haley!"

Raylan laughs. "Around here, prob'ly, but not where I'm from." He turns to Lena. "There's coffee, if you'd like some. I made it, so no promises but it doesn't seem to be too bad."

"Thank you, Marshal." She gives him a weak smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Coffee sounds good."

When Lena leaves the room, Raylan looks back at Haley. "Your mom's just tryin' to do right by you in a bad situation."

"She's the one that got us into the bad situation in the first place," Haley huffs. Her eyes fill. "I miss my friends from home, then just when I make new ones she decides we have to leave."

"You liked it at the compound?"

She moves one shoulder upwards. "Better than here."

Raylan chuckles. "Can't argue with you on that. I'm not that fond of 'here' myself."

She grins slightly.

"Where was home before you came to Utah?"

"Henderson."

"Nevada?"

"Yeah, it's near Las Vegas. But it's nothing like that."

"From what I've seen, there's not much like Las Vegas."

Another grin.

Lena walks back into the living room, both hands wrapped around her cup. She perches on the arm of Haley's chair. "The coffee is fine."

"Good." He nods. "What made you decide to leave the compound?"

There's a look exchanged between the two, and one of Lena's hands strays from the cup to stroke her daughter's hair. "Why don't you go get your sister up?" She says.

"Alright." Haley gets up and wanders off down the hall to the bedrooms and Lena takes her place in the chair. She's less timid now than she was last night, more composed. "You can ask me whatever you want, Marshal, just not in front of my daughters, understood?"

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona is sitting at the counter, turning the pages of the newspaper without really reading it. She didn't sleep well. The bed was too empty. She wants to call Raylan to say good morning, but she doesn't know if that's something she should do. She doesn't think that a simple phone call would be a problem, if he were working at the office it wouldn't be, but she isn't sure about this, so she just keeps scanning the paper, waiting for the coffee to be ready.

The day looms ahead, filled with decorations that need to be taken down and nothing but football games she doesn't really care about on television. She needs to go to the grocery, but until they know Raylan's schedule, it's hard to know what to buy. She wishes it was a workday, just so she'd be busy and out of the empty apartment. It reminds her of the four days when she broke it off and she's feeling whiney and depressed. After the wonderful time they had in Provo, that's just silly. She's pouring coffee when the phone rings and she's sure it's him. She's surprised and a little disappointed to hear Trina's voice instead.

"Winona? I hate to bother you, but Madeline's spiked a fever and the pediatrician is going to meet us at the ER to take a look. Brett wants to go with me. Walt's finally feeling a little better and I hate to drag him out. Mom and Dad are at Trevor's..."

"I'm on my way," Winona says, glad for something to get her out of the apartment. "I just have to throw some clothes on. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thank you!"

"It's no problem. Raylan's not here anyway. I'm happy for something to do."

"I know, Brett told me Chuck was going to call him in to work. I'm sorry about that, too. That's no way to end your honeymoon."

"You guys can't help being sick." She sighs. The longer Trina talks, the more time they're wasting. "Let me go, and I'll be there in a bit." Hanging up, she shrugs out of Raylan's shirt that she slept in, throws on jeans and a sweater, brushes her teeth, and runs a comb through her hair. She's out the door in only a few minutes, and with practically no traffic early New Year's Day, she pulls into Trina's driveway less than fifteen minutes.

Trina and Brett have Madeline bundled up and ready to go when Winona arrives. "Walt's still sleeping," Trina tells her. "I left his favorite cereal out if he feels like eating. Thanks for watching him."

"Yeah, thanks, Winona," Brett adds on his way out the door.

"Go." She closes the door after them, and then opens it. "Call me when you know something, okay?"

Trina nods. "We will."


	46. Chapter 46

About an hour after his parents leave, Walt wanders out to the family room in his pajamas, yawning, bright red hair sticking up all around his face. He accepts Winona's presence without a fuss and climbs up on the barstool, reaching for the cereal box his mother left on the counter. He opens the box and sticks his hand in.

"How about we put that in a bowl?" Winona suggests. "Do you want milk on it?"

"Ye-ah," Walt says. He eats the whole bowl and holds it out for more.

"Do you like peanut butter?"

"Um hmmm."

"Why don't I make you some peanut-butter toast. My daddy used to make it for me on Saturday mornings. That was my mom's day to sleep in."

"It isn't Saturday," Walt says.

Sometimes she forgets how literal small children can be. "I know, but, it's _like_ a Saturday since we don't have work or school, right?" He must agree with her logic because he doesn't argue. She searches the cupboards until she finds the peanut butter and the other thing she was looking for. "Daddy always put honey on it. It's really good." She hasn't eaten this treat, or even thought about it in years but now she's hungry for the salty-sweetness, a taste of childhood. She recalls sitting, side by side with Valerie, swinging her legs under her nightgown and waiting for Daddy to serve it up. The memory makes her smile.

Walt watches with interest as she toasts the bread and spreads two slices with the peanut-butter-and honey combination. She takes a bite of her own before sliding his plate across the counter. "Yummmm."

Walt holds the toast and looks at the glean of honey suspiciously before taking a tiny bite. He chews thoughtfully, then his eyes slide up to Winona's and he smiles and takes a bigger bite.

"I thought you might like that."

He finishes the rest in four bites. "Can we play _Hi Ho! Cherry-o_?" He says; his speech muffled by the peanut butter.

She's never heard of this game. "Sure, but you'll have to teach me."

He takes her hand and pulls her into the family room. The game is stacked with several others under the Christmas tree. He pulls it out and opens the box. Walt enjoys being in charge and takes his time telling her the rules. He sets up the game and points to the spinner. "If you land here you get tp pick one cherry from the tree. He goes on, pointing out each number. Then he gets to the picture of the dog. "This is bad," he tells her. "You don't want to spin the dog or the bird 'cause then you have to put _two_ cherries back." He points to the spilled basket. "This is worser though...if you spin this you have to put _all_ your cherries back."

"Okay, I'll try not to spin that one." She doesn't correct his grammar.

Walt nods his head seriously. "You can go first," he says, sliding the spinner across the floor to her.

"Thank you." She spins and lands on 4. She takes four cherries from the tree and puts them in her basket. Walt spins a 2. On her next turn she spins a 3. Walt spins a 1 and his cheeks turn red with frustration.

When her next spin lands on the dog he shouts out. "Put two back, put two back."

"I know. Darn." Winona smiles and puts two cherries back. She fudges her next two spins and ends up putting all but one of her cherries back. Walt spins a four and then a three and wins the game. "Let's play again," he suggests, grabbing all of the cherries and putting them back on the trees. They play two more games and he's setting up for another when the phone rings, saving her from thinking of an excuse or something to distract him.

"Is that my mommy?"

"Yes, you can talk to her in just a minute, Honey." Trina fills her in. Madeline is dehydrated and on an I.V. The doctor is admitting her as a precaution.

"Do you mind staying until my mom can pick Walt up tonight?" She asks Winona.

"No, we're having fun. Everything's fine. He ate a good breakfast and we just finished a game."

"He made you play _Hi Ho! Cherry-O, _didn't he?" Trina laughs. "I think that's his favorite Christmas present and it cost all of ten bucks."

"He wants to talk to you."

"Okay, put him on."

Walt holds the phone with both hands. "Hi Mommy. Uh huh. I did. No cheat. Really. Cereal. And she made me toast. With peanut butter. Okay. Bye." He hands the phone back to Winona.

Winona says her goodbyes to Trina and assures her again that watching Walt is no problem. She's happy for something to do.

Trina picks up on her mood. "It's hard when they have to work on holidays. Brett got called to work on Thanksgiving the first time he was supposed to meet my folks. That went over well." She laughs. "He worked Christmas the first two years we were married, too. Chuck's a lot better than the chief Brett had before. He really makes an effort to be fair and doesn't slough all the holidays off on the newer guys. Raylan will be back to regular hours before you know it."

"I hope you're right."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan shoves his hands in his pockets against the cold and makes his second pass around the front of the house, gazing down the street from under the brim of the hat. Some of the cars he saw earlier are gone, but there aren't any unfamiliar ones or anything else suspicious. It's calm and quiet, everyone inside, likely sleeping off last night's festivities.

He thinks about what Lena told him. There's more to her than first appearances would indicate. She's quiet and reserved, but there's steel underneath, especially when it comes to her girls. The structured life at the compound appealed to her. At first it seemed an easy place to raise kids; fewer distractions, less technology, a smaller pool of peers to wield influence over them. But she started to be suspicious when Haley was part of a group of girls 'rewarded' for good behavior with a trip to a local indoor water park. All of the chaperones with the exception of herself and another mother were men. They sat around the pools talking and joking, watching the thirteen and fourteen year old girls with a thinly veiled interest that made Lena very uncomfortable.

About a week after that, Haley was selected for another outing. Lena wasn't asked to go along on this one, and Haley hadn't talked to her about it. She'd told her sister some things though, and when Taylor reported to her mother that the six girls had been examined by a doctor and interviewed by several of the older men, Lena had made the decision to leave. She claims no one tried to stop her, but then why go into hiding? When Raylan had asked her that, she'd shut down and avoided answering.

Raylan mounts the steps to the porch and turns to make one last visual sweep of the neighborhood. He's sighs. He's going to have to break his promise to Lena. _She_ isn't going to be the witness who brings Jameson Reeves down. The only one who can tell them what really went on when the girls were taken is Haley.


	47. Chapter 47

"No. Absolutely not."

Raylan sighs and dips his head, tipping the hat and rubbing the back of his neck. He looks Lena Matthews in the eye. "She's gonna have to talk to the District Attorney anyway. She seems to trust me. Just let me ask her a few questions. I won't push her if she doesn't want to answer."

Lena bites her lip. "I want to be there."

"There may be things she isn't ready for you to hear."

"I'm her mother!" Indignant.

"Exactly," he says.

She considers this, elbows resting on the stained kitchen table, chin in her hand. "You'll tell me what she says?"

"I'll ask her if I can. There might not be anything you don't already know."

"I hope that's true," she shakes her head. "But I doubt it. I know my Haley, Marshal Givens and something happened those two days. Something she doesn't want to talk about."

"Well then, let me see if I can find out what it is, okay?"

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Read me 'nother one, 'Nona," Walt asks. "Pleeeeease?" He peers up at her through impossibly long lashes.

"Which one?" They're curled on the couch, Walt, still in his pajamas, is snuggled beside her with a stack of books on his lap. They've read _Fox in Sox_ and_ A Fly Went By_ two times each and now he's looking for another.

"This one." he pulls a book out of the stack and the rest slide off his lap onto the cushion. "It's about a dog. Do you have a dog?"

"No. Our apartment doesn't allow pets." A dog might be company, she thinks. That's something to talk to Raylan about. He'd probably want some big protective thing like a German Shepard, while she'd like a smaller, friendlier one, like a Beagle or one of those Jack Russells like Katie's parents had.

"I want a puppy," Walt tells her. "But Mommy says I have to be ponsible."

It takes her a moment. "I think you mean _responsible_."

"It means older," Walt says with confidence.

"That's about right." Winona laughs. She looks at the picture on the cover of the book. "The dog is on a school bus."

"Yeah, he rides the bus to school. Mommy says real dogs don't go to school."

"Not on a bus," She agrees. "Boomer Goes to School. That's a good title. Have you read it before?"

Walt nods. "It's funny! He eats all the lunches and walks in the paint." Winona reads and Walt laughs before all of the funny parts. By the end of the story she's laughing right along with him.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"I'm not gonna make you tell me anything you don't want to, Haley," Raylan says, soft. "But the D.A., she's gonna want details."

The girl slides lower in the chair and hangs her head, a sheet of dark hair hiding her face. Her hands are tucked into the front pocket of the sweatshirt. She digs one toe into the carpet and sighs. "There was a doctor." Her voice comes lower than a whisper. "I think they were watching while he..." She stops talking and shakes her head.

He doesn't ask for details. "What makes you think they were watching?"

She tucks a hank of hair behind her ear, exposing one side of her face. "The doctor kept looking up into one corner of the room. I think there was a camera."

"But you aren't sure."

She shakes her head. "No."

Haley obviously doesn't want to discuss details of the exam with anyone, least of all him, and he's pretty sure he doesn't want to hear it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Besides the doctor's exam, did anything else happen?"

"We ate dinner." She makes a face. "Fancy. Table clothes and everything. We had to dress up. They gave us wine, at least I'm pretty sure it was wine. I didn't drink that much. It made me feel funny."

_They drugged them_. Raylan thinks. "What happened after dinner?" He asks, testing his theory.

Haley closes her eyes and bites her lip. " I don't remember."

"Where did you sleep? You were gone overnight, right?"

"There were these rooms...bunk beds, four of us slept there. I guess there was another room for the other girls."

"Do you remember going to bed or just waking up?"

She shrugs. "I don't know."

"How did you feel the next day?"

"Okay, I guess." Another shrug. "I had a headache."

The headache would go along with being drugged. He's sure he's right and he hates to think of what may have happened. "That's all? Just a headache?"

She glances up at him, wide-eyed and nods. "Yeah, just a headache."

"You sure?"

She bolts up out of the chair. "Yes!" She yells. "I don't want to talk anymore." she brushes past him and retreats down the hallway.

Raylan tosses the hat on the table. "Shit," he says to no one.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Walt's fallen asleep playing with his cars by the Christmas tree and Winona leaves him there, covering him with a knitted afghan from the back of the couch. She puts her phone on vibrate and sticks it in her pocket. There's a football game on with the sound off. She isn't even sure who's playing. Trina has a rack filled with magazines beside the recliner, mostly Parents and Cosmo. Winona laughs at the contrast and rifles through them until an article in an old Cosmo catches her eye; _Married With Sex; Keeping it 'Up' After the Honeymoon_. Turning the pages she's amused at most of the suggestions, but notes that there are a few snippets of practical advice. _No TV in the bedroom_. Check. _Have fun with sex, it shouldn't be serious all the time_. She and Raylan laugh a lot together so...check. _Showers are for more than washing your hair._ She smiles. Yep. Check. _Make time for each other outside the bedroom_. Winona sighs. That one is out of her hands, at least for the moment. The cell phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out, glancing at the screen. _Well, that's perfect timing_. "Hi, Cowboy," she says.

"Hi yourself. Where are you? I tried the apartment."

"I'm at Brett and Trina's watching Walt." She explains about Madeline.

"How's your day?"

"Okay."

Something in his voice is off. "You sure?"

"Yeah. What did you do with Walt?"

She tells him about peanut butter toast, Hi Ho, Cherry-O and the books. "He's sleeping now. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"A little, what with the lumpy couch and thinkin' 'bout you."

She imagines the boyish grin on his face. "You were thinkin' about me? That's nice. I was thinkin' about you, too."

"Oh, yeah? What were you thinkin'?"

"I was thinking that I missed having you there to snuggle up to."

"Just snuggle?"

She laughs. "You really want to do this, Cowboy? Won't it just make it _harder_?"

There's a low chuckle from the other end of the connection. "It's already pretty hard just hearin' your sexy voice."

"Umm. Same here. Now I really wish you were here to snuggle up to...naked."

"Maybe you were right about this bein' a bad idea," he groans.

They're quiet for a moment. "It seems silly after just one night," she says. "But I really do miss you."

"I miss you, too," he sighs, and she hears that same hesitation in his voice.

"You're sure everything's okay...is something bothering you about the case?" The silence let's her know she's probably right. He takes a breath and she waits.

"It'll work itself out. I'd better go. I love you."

She huffs out a breath of frustration that he doesn't seem to hear. "I love you,too.


	48. Chapter 48

Thursday is a slow day at the courthouse. Winona's glad to be back to work, but there really isn't all that much to do in the shortened week. With no scheduled court cases and most of the judges still off, she spends the time catching up on the less crucial filing and transcribing that got pushed aside before the holidays and while she was gone.

Madeline is still running a fever, so they haven't released her from the hospital. That means Brett is still tied up and can't relieve Raylan. On top of that, Dan's father passed away, and with funeral arrangements and caring for his mother, it may be as long as a week or even two before he gets back. Raylan calls twice, once in the morning while she's getting ready for work, and again before bed. They talk for almost an hour the second time, both of them reluctant to say good night. She has a good cry when she hangs up the phone and doesn't sleep well.

Thankfully, she's busier on Friday. There are two depositions on her schedule, one in the morning, for an upcoming criminal case and the other right after lunch for a messy custody dispute. The last one, filled with bitterness and resentment, is depressing to listen to, and she's lost in thought when she pushes open the door to her office.

The first thing she sees is the hat lying on top of the file cabinet, then the boots and long denim-clad legs propped up on her desk. Her heart leaps and her head snaps up and she almost drops her armful of files. "Raylan!" She tosses the depositions on the straight-backed chair by the door and hurls herself at him. He barely gets his feet down in time to catch her.

"Glad to see you, too." He grins, wrapping his arms around her. She tugs at his tie to loosen it and buries her face in the warm crook of his neck, breathing him in. It's only been three days but it feels like forever since they've been together. His hands stroke her back. He tips her chin up to kiss her and she twists herself in his lap, straddling him in the chair and kissing him back eagerly.

"How did you get away?" She asks a few minutes later, breaking the kiss.

"The D.A. wanted to talk to Haley and her mother. The bailiff is there, and he's armed, so Chuck told me to 'take five'." His mouth finds hers again, tongue slipping in, and she trails her hand along his face, feeling the stubble beneath her fingers.

"You need a shave. How long is 'take five'?"

"Long enough," Raylan says, capturing her lips again. He gathers her skirt in his hands, pulling the soft fabric up over her hips. She wriggles and pushes up on her knees, hands fumbling with his belt buckle. That obstacle removed, she works the button free and eases the zipper down. Now he raises up, holding her around the waist so she can tug the jeans and boxers off. He slides her panties down.

"Oh no! Wait! The door. I didn't lock the door."

"Shit." he groans.

-o-o-O-o-o-

He watches as she untangles herself, steps out of the panties, tossing them at him playfully, steps to the door and locks it. She puts the straight-backed chair in front of the door as an extra precaution, and turns back to him. Hiking her skirt up, she lowers herself onto his lap. He sinks into her with a groan. "My God, you feel good. So good," he murmurs. "I've missed you."

Her hand strokes his face again. "I've missed you so much." Her eyes are closed, her breath hitching with his every movement.

He kisses the soft skin below her ear, feels her shiver in response. "I'm not gonna last long. You know that, right?"

"Shhhhh." She's wrapped his tie around one hand and uses it now to reel him in closer, kissing him soft as his fingers weave their way into her hair. One hand splays across her back pressing her to him. She rocks her hips back and forth and he sucks in a breath, trying to delay the inevitable, trying to give her the time he knows she needs, but it's no use.

"Oh, God, 'Nona." He shudders and the chair slams back against the desk with a thud from the force of it. He holds her tight, feels the laughter ripple through her chest. He trembles again. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"It's okay. Really. I'm kinda flattered." She leans back and grins at him. "You can make it up to me another time."

"Oh, I _will_. _Soon_." He promises.

She lays her head on his shoulder and he keeps his arms around her, both of them loath to break their connection. He sighs. She's warm and drowsy in his lap and he wishes he could just pick her up and take her home; sleep with her in their bed, make love again; but he needs to go. The last thing he wants is Chuck to come looking for him and the truth is he's anxious to know what the D.A. got from Haley, if anything. "I gotta get back," he whispers.

"I know."

"I'll call you tonight." Reluctantly, she eases herself off his lap, glancing around. Amused, he watches her search as he zips up and buckles his belt. "Looking for these?" He dangles the panties she threw at him earlier. She reaches for them but he raises an eyebrow and tucks them into his pocket.

"Raylan! Come on! I need those. I can't go..."

He shuts her up with a kiss as he reaches for the hat. "Commando? Sure you can. It's almost quittin' time." He winks. "I'll sleep with 'em under my pillow. It'll give me something to think about."

"But..."

"Nope. I'm keepin' 'em as a souvenir." He kisses her again. "I love you."

She gives up, kissing him back. "I love you, too, Cowboy."


	49. Chapter 49

He's stretched out on the couch at the safe-house. It's dark and quiet, Lena and both girls turned in long ago. Haley hadn't said two words on the way back from the courthouse. She just stared out the window. The D.A. hadn't gotten much out of her either, from what he gathered. She'd threatened to pull the protection, but it was an empty threat to his thinking. Right now, Haley Matthews was their best bet for getting something, anything, to stick on Jameson Reeve and the district attorney was too smart not to recognize that.

He slides his hand into his pocket, rubbing the silky softness of Winona's stolen panties between his fingers and thinking about their afternoon tryst. As much as he still misses her and is ready for their life to get back to normal, those twenty or so minutes in her office definitely helped ease his longing for her. His wife. He has a wife. A beautiful, smart, sexy woman who, for some inexplicable reason, loves him. It isn't anything he ever expected to happen and he wonders how in the hell it did, but there it is. Happiness has managed to find him despite all the shit life threw his way. He laughs to himself and tips the hat down over his eyes. Time to get some sleep, or try.

Either three nights of very little sleep on the uncomfortable couch or the afternoon's activities must have gone a long way toward relaxing him because he falls asleep almost immediately. When he wakes, there's someone in the room. His hand automatically goes for the gun at his hip. He hears breathing, and when his eyes adjust to the darkness he sees her. She's sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor staring at him. He relaxes, dropping his hand back onto the couch.

"Haley?"

"I think they...had...sex with us," the girl says. "When I woke up, my shirt was buttoned crooked, and my underpants were inside out." She lowers her head, that inky curtain of hair blocking her from his gaze again. She's been whispering, but now her voice becomes so quiet that he has to move to the edge of the couch to hear. "I thought I'd gotten my period, but it wasn't that...just a little blood. I know that's what happens when..." She stops and heaves in a breath. He can't tell if she's crying or just working up the nerve to tell the rest. When she doesn't continue he waits a few long minutes.

"Did you talk to any of the other girls?"

A shake of her head. "Not really. A couple of them were sick the next day though.

"Do you remember who you were with?" He can't see her face clearly in the shadows, but the swipe of a hand against her cheek let's him know that she's crying.

"The last thing I remember is having dinner with Parker Reeve, Lindsay, and some other man, Kirk or Kurt...something like that."

"Parker Reeve? Is that Jameson Reeve's son?"

She nods. "One of them. He has, like seven or eight, and a bunch of daughters, too."

"How old is Parker?"

She shrugs. "Old. About your age maybe."

Raylan presses his face into the couch pillow and coughs._ Old...about your age_. _Really?_ But he guesses thirty _was_ old when he was fifteen. Then he sobers, imagining this man, his age, drugging and raping..._because rape is what it was._..a fourteen-year-old girl. He clenches his jaw and keeps his voice calmer than he feels He swings his legs over the side of the couch and sits up, running a hand through his hair. "So you had dinner with Parker and this Lindsay...who's Lindsay?"

"Just another one of the girls. I don't know her very well. She seemed really happy to be there, though. She kept telling the rest of us how lucky we were to be 'chosen'." She laughs, much too cynically for someone so young.

"What's the next thing you remember after dinner? Anything before you woke up the next morning?"

"Not really."

He doesn't want to push her too far, but there has to be something else. "Try to remember...anything at all."

She presses her hands to her temples. "I remember this tattoo of a flag, I think. On his chest. There was a picture of it in our history book at my old school."

"Would you recognize it if you saw it again?"

"I think so." She rocks back on her heels. "It said something about 'Liberty or Death'."

"Did you tell any of this to the district attorney today?"

"No. I don't like her much. She's...not very nice." She brushes the hair back from her face and stretches her legs out in front of her.

He's dealt with Allison Tanner before and doesn't disagree, but the job requires a certain demeanor. "They don't pay her to be nice. She has to make a case, Haley, and this is an important one.". He leans forward zeroing in on her. "We need to call her in the morning; tell her what you've told me."

"Do I have to? Can't you just tell her what I said?" She sounds like a much younger child.

"It doesn't work that way."

"Can I tell her over the phone?"

He shakes his head. "She's probably going to want you to come in again, give what they call a deposition, an official statement for the court."

Her eyes meet his in the darkness. "Can you come with me?"

"I don't see why not." He shrugs. "Your mom, too."

"No!" The word bursts from her. "I don't want her there."

"She's your mama. She's going to want to be there and the D.A. is going to want her there."

Now she's crying full out. "I can't tell this in front of her. She won't understand. It'll all be my fault."

He's seen enough of Lena Matthews' parenting style to see why Haley might think so, but in this case he's pretty sure she's wrong. "Haley," he says, soft. "Your mama isn't gonna blame you for bein'..." He stops himself short of using the word _raped_. "...for what happened. She loves you. That's why she picked up and left with you girls."

The sobs collapse into sniffles, but it's a long time before she speaks. "Okay, I'll talk to her."

"Maybe you could talk to your mama first." He suggests. "That way she'll be able to help when you're talkin' to Ms. Tanner."

"Maybe," Haley says. "Is there any coffee?"

Raylan wonders whether Lena would approve of her daughter drinking coffee, but it seems a little thing all things considered. "No, but we can make some." He stands and heads for the kitchen and Haley follows.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona sits in the corner of the interview room and tries not to make eye contact with Raylan. She'd mentioned the possible conflict of interest to the district attorney who conferred with Lena Matthews and said she didn't see a problem. Now Winona's fingers fly across the keys recording Haley's story. It makes her sick to her stomach.

Haley's done talking, leaning against her mother who's whispering in her ear. There's a lull while Allison Turner is making notes, no doubt thinking of more questions she needs to ask. Now, with no words to type, Winona can't help but look at him and the expression on his face tells her he wishes she were anywhere but here, listening to this. He'd hide every bit of the ugliness of his job from her if he could.

"Excuse me," Lena says. "I really think that's enough for today. I'd like to take Haley home."

The D.A. huffs out a breath. "I have a few more questions I'd really like to..."

"I'm sure you do," Lena interrupts. "But I think she's been through enough today. I'm saying 'no'."

Ms. Turner glares at Raylan, who shrugs. "Alright then. I'm tied up in court all day tomorrow. Can we meet on Thursday? Say, two o'clock?"

Lena nods her assent and they all file out into the hall. Chuck Paul is waiting for Raylan. "Go home, Givens. Take the night off. I'll take Mrs. Matthews and Haley home. The other girl is..."

"With Linda in the office," Raylan says.

Winona glances at him, but Raylan's eyes are on Haley. "I'll be back tomorrow," he tells her. Haley nods and walks off between her mother and the chief.

Raylan wraps an arm around Winona's shoulders. "Let's go home."


	50. Chapter 50

"You know what I'm hungry for?" They've left his car at the courthouse and Winona's driving. He can hitch a ride back with her in the morning to pick it up. It will give them a few more minutes together.

She stops at the light and turns to grin at him. "I think I have an idea."

He grins back. "Besides that."

"Oh, you mean _food_." She laughs.

"Fried chicken."

"Fried chicken? Like _Kentucky Fried Chicken_?"

He taps his fingers against the armrest in time to the song on the radio. "That'd do in a pinch, I 'spose, but homemade'd be better."

"Bacon and eggs I can do, but fried chicken?" She looks doubtful. "I've never made fried chicken."

"How hard can it be?"

An hour later, with just about every surface in the kitchen pretty much covered in flour and the burned pan still smoking in the sink, he wonders what he was thinking. Winona is talking to Trina, and even over the phone he can hear the other woman's laughter from across the room. She must be giving Winona some direction, though, because the oven is on, and Winona is gingerly arranging the remaining pieces of flour-coated chicken in a new pan.

"Thirty minutes, then turn it and thirty minutes more. Got it. Thanks, Trina," she says, opening the oven and sliding the pan in. "You're a life-saver." Setting the phone down, she wipes her hands on the kitchen towel and shakes her head at him. "You thought you owed me _before_, Cowboy..."

He takes another sip of the bourbon, a Kentucky blend he's never heard of from the case Winona's father sent, and sets the glass on the counter. "Thirty minutes, huh? That's plenty of time for round one."

"Round one?" She pauses with her fingers on the top button of her blouse. "You planning on another triple-header?"

"Gotta make hay while the sun shines," he quips.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You'd better get that," Winona says when the timer goes off. "I don't think my legs will hold me up yet." She shivers as an aftershock of pleasure ripples through her.

"That good?" He lifts his head from where it's resting on her stomach and props himself up on one elbow. His fingers lightly stroke her waist.

"Ummm hmmm." She murmurs, stretching, one hand reaching out to brush the hank of hair from his forehead. "That good."

"Well, there's more where that came from."

The annoying buzzing continues from the kitchen. "Timer, Raylan. Unless you want another pan full of burnt chicken."

He pushes up from the bed and walks out to the kitchen in his boxers. "What am I s'posed to do?"

"Just turn it over, reset the timer for another thirty minutes, and get your fine ass back in here."

"Oh, you like my ass, do you?" The oven door opens and shuts and he walks backwards into the bedroom, wiggling his butt.

"Raylan!" She giggles. Then her voice turns husky. "Come'ere."

He turns around and she grabs the waistband of the boxers, pulling him down on top of her. "I love your ass, and all the rest of you, too. Especially _this_." She circles his tongue with hers, drawing him into a kiss. "And _this_." She wraps a hand around him and he slips out of the boxers, kicking them onto the floor.

When the timer goes off again, they're lying tangled in the covers, skin glistening, breathing heavily. "I don't know about you, but I sure worked up an appetite."

Rolling over onto his chest, she kisses him. "Me, too. Let's go eat this dinner you wanted."

They sit at the counter half-dressed, eating the chicken. "Not bad," Raylan says. "Room for improvement, but not bad for a first try."

She takes a last bite of the drumstick she's holding and looks up at him. "Really? You just said that? Really?" She takes her plate to the sink and rinses it before putting it in the dishwasher. She runs water into the crusty pan and starts scrubbing hard enough to slop water onto the counter. "I _told _you I didn't cook much."

"Hey, hey, I was kiddin'. I'm eatin' it, ain't I?"

She keeps scrubbing and he gets up and wraps his arms around her from behind. "It was _good_. Really." He lifts her hair and plants a soft kiss at the base of her neck.

"You're just saying that so I won't be mad at you anymore."

He sighs. "Well, I don't want you to be mad, but it _was_ good_._"

"But you've had better, right?"

He drops his arms from her waist and turns her around. "Do you _want _to fight about this? Seems kinda silly to me on our one night together."

She lets her head fall against his chest.

"Oh, so that's it." His arms go back around her. "Madeline is home, so Brett'll be trading off with me some nights. It won't be much longer."

"I just miss you," she murmurs.

"I know. I miss you, too." He glances around the kitchen. "Save the rest of the mess for morning. I'll help."

"What do you want to do instead?" She looks up at him through long lashes, a smile curving at the edges of her mouth.

"Oh, I'm sure we can think of something."


	51. Chapter 51

Winona wanders out into the kitchen wrapped in the bed-sheet. Raylan's sitting by the counter in his boxers and a t-shirt, cell phone in his hand.

"What're you doing? It's the middle of the night." She yawns and climbs up on the barstool next to his. Picking up his glass from the counter, she takes a sip of whiskey and makes a face. "That's pretty strong."

"Yeah, I'm not particularly fond of that bottle. It's not very smooth." He punches a number on his phone and frowns when there's no answer.

"Who're you callin' in the middle of the night?"

He points to the clock. "It's not the middle of the night. It's only a little past eleven. It just feels like the middle of the night because we went to bed right after supper."

"Oh." She yawns again. "That's right. I guess you wore me out." She leans against him. "Who're you calling?" She asks again.

"Chuck. He's not answering and that's odd."

"Wasn't he going to stay at the safe-house tonight?"

"Yeah, that's why I was callin'. I wanted to see how Haley was doing." Raylan stands and walks toward the bedroom. "I don't like it that he's not picking up. Something's not right."

She pads down the hall after him. "What are you going to do?"

He's pulling on his jeans and a clean shirt from the closet. "I'm gonna call one more time and if he doesn't answer, I'm gonna drive over there and make sure everything's alright."

She tilts her head, one hand holding the sheet together. "And then you'll come home?"

He grabs the hat from the dresser and puts it on. "If everything's okay, yes, then I'll come home."

"Good." She takes a step toward him and lets the sheet drop. "I'll rest up."

He bends in and kisses her, one hand reaching around to squeeze her bottom. "You do that."

-o-o-O-o-o-

He drives with his hands tight on the steering wheel. He shifts in the seat. There's not as much leg room in Winona's car and he's uncomfortable. He has a bad feeling. Bad enough that he almost calls Brett to meet him at the house, but it's late and he doesn't want to wake Trina or the kids, so he talks himself out of it. It's only a fifteen-minute drive from the apartment to the quiet neighborhood where the safe house sits among older homes; many of them rentals where people come and go frequently and newcomers are unnoticed.

Chuck's silver Regal is in the drive and the house is dark and quiet. Raylan climbs the steps and tries the front door. Locked. Hand on the gun at his hip, he follows the path around to the back porch. The flimsy screen is ajar, but this door is locked as well. He knocks lightly. No answer. He knocks more heavily. There's still no response from inside.

Maybe everyone is asleep. Chuck may not hear his phone, or may have put it on mute. But something tells Raylan that isn't the case. He can't see a thing peering into the blackness of the kitchen. The light over the sink that he'd left on at night when he stayed here is off. He goes to the car and retrieves his flashlight from under the seat. Back on the porch he shines it through the window into the kitchen, and his fears are realized.

Chuck is sprawled face down on the floor, a large dark puddle around his head.

"Shit!" Raylan says. He jiggles the doorknob again, shoving his shoulder against the wood. It groans but doesn't give, so he shatters the glass pane with the butt of the gun and slipping his hand inside the jacket, turns the knob carefully. Once inside, he holds the gun steady as he kneels beside the chief. He knows before he turns the man over that he's gone. There's too much blood for any other outcome. Still, the wide staring eyes of his boss are unnerving; the ugly gash in his throat a shock. He puts a hand to his mouth. "Goddamn it," he swears. "God fucking dammit."

He listens. All he hears is his own heart pounding a swift tattoo in his chest. He's almost certain there's no one else here. Whoever did this took Lena and the girls, or worse, there could be more bodies. _Shit._ Rising from his crouch, gun in hand; he does a through search of the house. Both girls' beds are rumpled, as if they were roused from sleep. _Oh, God. _He hopes they didn't witness what happened to Chuck. Lena's bed is undisturbed. So, the girls had gone to bed but Lena and Chuck were still up when whoever did this arrived? _How the hell did they get in? _There's no sign of a break in. All the windows and doors appear to be locked. It doesn't even look like there was a struggle. Raylan is sure that whatever happened was unexpected and quick, catching Chuck completely off guard.

After calling 9-1-1, Raylan makes his way back to the kitchen, punching Brett's number into the phone.

"I'm on my way," Brett says after Raylan fills him in. "Did you call the locals?"

"Yeah. I can already hear sirens. Someone needs to call Laurel; get her to the hospital."_ Not that it will do any good, _he thinks.

"I'll call Linda. She can go over and pick her up and take her. Her daughter is sixteen, she can stay with the kids."

_Shit. Chuck's kids. _Raylan swallows hard. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Is Dan back yet?"

"Yeah, he was getting in yesterday sometime. You want to give him a call?"

"Will do."

Okay, I'm almost on the expressway about ten minutes out."

In a matter of minutes the house is crawling with cops and useless medics. Neighbors are peering from windows and the more curious ones are standing on their lawns, winter coats on over pajamas, gaping at the commotion. Brett and Dan are both here, and Linda is already on her way to Laurel. Raylan's glad Laurel will have the support of another woman. If it were Winona he'd want..._Oh, shit. _He pulls out his cell phone. Sure enough, she's called twice. Walking to a quieter corner of the backyard he pushes her number.

"Where are you?" She demands before he even says 'Hello'. There's a note of panic in her voice, and while he understands it, he's just not equipped to deal with it right now.

"I'm at the safe house. Something's happened. I can't give you details...

"Why didn't you call? I've been imagining all sorts of..."

"Listen, Winona, just listen, okay?" She starts to interrupt again and he raises his voice enough that one of the coroner's techs turns to look at him. "I can't talk right now. I'll call you back as soon as I can. I'm _fine. _ Okay? You don't need to worry. I'll be home as soon as I can." He hangs up before she can protest.

He's about to go through the crowd of neighbors to ask if anyone saw or heard anything when a voice calls him back to the kitchen.

"Hey, Givens! You found the body?"

He looks up at the voice, an SLPD uniformed. "Yeah, I found him."

"M.E. wants to talk to you."

The medical examiner is an Asian woman with dramatically short spiky hair and huge almond eyes in a delicate face. He stares at her for a moment, trying to reconcile her striking beauty with her gloved and blood-covered hands. The wound in Chuck Paul's throat is cleaned and fully exposed. The cut goes all the way to the bone, and Raylan feels sick.

"You found the body?" She repeats the question.

"Yes."

"Did you move him?" She's working as she talks to him, slipping a long thin sheath of some kind into Chuck's abdomen.

"I turned him over to check..." He swallows the bile that's risen to his throat remembering. "...to be sure he was dead."

"This much blood should have been a clue, Marshal." She's not accusatory, just matter-of-fact.

"Yes ma'am."

"Body temp puts time-of-death around five hours ago; I'd say between seven and eight o'clock."

_We were eatin' fried chicken while Chuck was dyin'. _He swallows hard again as the chicken threatens to reappear.

Her assistant writes down the time of death and the M.E. turns to the paramedics. "You can take him now. I'll do the autopsy this afternoon."

Brett, Dan, and Raylan stand together as the gurney is loaded into the ambulance. "We should follow," Dan says. "Be there at the hospital."

Raylan dreads seeing Laurel; wants to put that off as long as possible, but he knows Dan is right. They owe the chief that much. He starts for the car, but Brett puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll drive. We can come back for the car later."

Raylan doesn't argue.


	52. Chapter 52

She's sitting at the counter, tense and wary, her second glass of wine in front of her, thinking of all the things she's going to say to him. Every few minutes she glances at the clock, then at the door, willing him to walk through it. She isn't quite as angry as when he first hung up on her, but she's had a couple of hours to stew so she has a good argument going in her head. He hung up on her! How hard could it be to tell her what's going on? Let her know when he might be home? And there's _no_ excuse for hanging up on her. "_I'm fine. You don't need to worry."_ Yeah, right.

When the door finally opens at three-thirty in the morning. Raylan heads straight for the bottle of whiskey he left out earlier in the evening; pours three fingers and drinks it down without blinking. He slams the glass down on the counter hard enough to make her startle.

"Chuck's dead." His voice is flat, hard, with no emotion whatsoever. The tone shocks her so much that it takes a moment for what he's actually said to register. When it does, she's off the stool, her anger forgotten.

"Oh, my God, Raylan!"

He paces around the tiny kitchen, pours another glass and swallows it down as quickly as the first. He tosses the hat onto the counter. "I'm gonna take a shower."

He hasn't even looked at her.

Anger resurfacing at his avoidance, she trails him down the hall "Raylan? What happened? What about the girl? Dammit, Raylan...talk to me." He whips his belt out of the loops so hard it flips back and almost catches her.

He's tossing his clothes off left and right in the bedroom, looking past her when she puts herself in front of him. Finally, she blocks the doorway, forcing him to deal with her.

"Raylan. Tell me what's going on. What happened to Chuck?"

"I'm gonna take a shower," he repeats.

She doesn't budge.

His head drops; hair hanging down. His voice is low, soft. "Please, 'Nona.

There it is. _This_ is the voice of the man she loves. She hesitates, then steps aside, laying her palm on his back as he goes into the bathroom and closes the door

-o-o-O-o-o-

His bones ache. He feels like he's at least a hundred years old. The water is as hot as he can stand, and even though he scrubs himself down with the damn loofah thing Winona has hanging there until his skin is red, he can't get the smell of blood, Chuck's blood, out of his nose, or the picture of the gaping hole in the man's neck out of his mind. Even the whiskey he just downed rushing to his head isn't making it go away.

Laurel was a rock at the hospital. With her dark hair and huge brown eyes, she'd reminded him of the iconic photos of Jackie Kennedy after JFK's assassination. Back straight, chin held high, absolutely stoic. She'd wanted to talk to Raylan, since he'd been the one who found Chuck. The cold tile of the floors and the gray green walls of the Emergency waiting room seemed to close in on him as she approached.

"Was he..." she starts, questioning. Her eyes are clear. There aren't any tears.

"Gone when I found him," he had managed, hiding under the hat. "I'm really sorry." He shakes his head. Words have never been his strong suit, and he doubts the most eloquent of speakers has words for this anyway.

Laurel had patted his hand, kissed his cheek. "I know. He loved you guys, every one of you. Like brothers." Raylan stood there, helpless, while _she _comforted _him_. She kept it up, with Brett and with Dan, whose recent loss of his father showed in his obvious struggle to keep it together in front of the rest of them.

"I need to go home to my kids," she'd said, after she'd insisted on seeing her husband. Raylan hoped they'd pulled the sheet high enough that she hadn't seen the wound.

The water is cold now, cold enough to make him shiver, but he stays in the shower. How in the _hell_ is he going to tell Winona about this? His gut clenches remembering the four days without her, when he thought she wasn't coming back. Getting shot wearing a vest is nothing compared to this. This is going to terrify her. _What if she leaves again?_

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan has another glass in hand; at least he's put ice in this one. Head down, elbows on the counter he starts talking and doesn't stop or look up until he's finished what Winona is certain is a condensed and sanitized version of the night's events.

Her heart is beating wildly and she's queasy just thinking about what could have happened. It could have been Raylan. The panic she felt after he was shot rises again, warning her to run as far away as she can from him and his dangerous job, but she takes a deep breath and shoves it down. It isn't like before. This is her _husband _now. She _loves_ him. She made her choice, and she has to deal with it.

Silence hangs in the kitchen and she glances at the clock. Less than four hours until she has to leave for work. She reaches across the counter and pries his fingers from the glass, slipping her hand into his. "Come to bed, Raylan."

He looks up at her, doubtful.

She puts her other hand over his, running her fingers across the knuckles. "It's been a long day. An awful day. Tomorrow is going to be awful, too. You need to try to get some sleep."

He shakes his head. "I ain't gonna sleep."

"Let's just try." She slides off the stool and pulls him along behind her to the bedroom. The sheets are still rumpled from earlier, and she straightens them before picking the blanket up off the floor and settling it over the bed. She turns the covers back and crawls in. He follows, reluctantly, lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. She tucks the covers over them both and curls herself around him.

"I think it works better if you close your eyes," she murmurs, laying a hand on his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat. "Just close your eyes," she says, soothing, as if he's a child who's had a nightmare. After a moment, he sighs and slides an arm around her, holding her close. She listens to his breathing until the rhythm of it lulls her into a restless sleep.


	53. Chapter 53

He walks into the office a little after nine the next morning after hitching a ride in with Winona. Brett isn't here yet, but Linda looks up from her desk, eyes red.

"How's Laurel?" He asks, tossing the hat on the desk and walking towards the coffee. "You talked to her this morning?"

"She called a few minutes ago asking for some phone numbers. She's trying to arrange the service. Did you know Chuck was in the Marines?"

Raylan smiles as he shakes his head. "No, but it don't surprise me."

"Me either." Linda agrees. She hefts her large frame out of the chair and comes over to refill her cup. "How're you doing? Finding him like that had to be horrible." She shakes her head.

"I'm okay." He sips the brew; glad for once that Linda always makes it too strong. Despite Winona's efforts, he hadn't slept much, if at all. He walks back to his desk and sits heavily. This day is already too long. It's impossible not to look towards the Chief's door, odd not to see his bulk crammed behind the desk. Part of him still expects the man to burst through the door with his usual enthusiasm for the job and life in general. The office door is closed, locked, Raylan imagines, until someone decides who's in charge and gives them access.

"Phone's for you, Raylan," Linda says. He didn't even hear it ring. "Some SLCPD Captain, Hank Reynolds?"

"Yeah, he was there last night." He remembers the man because he'd put him in mind of Chuck. Tall, buzz cut, but with a warm smile that seemed out of place on such a hulk of a man. He waits until Linda hangs up, and pushes the flashing button on the phone. "Givens."

"Deputy Marshal Givens? Captain Reynolds, Hank, here. First off, the whole department is sorry about the Chief. I dealt with him a few times and he was always fair and willing to cooperate. Anything we can do to help you all out, you just let me know. I'll take care of it."

"Thanks."

"Might have something for you from the house."

"Oh, yeah?" Raylan pulls a pad out of the drawer and snags a pen.

"Our tech gal got a partial print from the inside door frame that comes up for a guy name of Kirk Uline. Fingerprints are on file from a DUI a few years back. You know who he is?"

"I just might," Raylan says, remembering Haley's comment about a guy named Kirk or Kurt being at dinner with Parker Reeve.

"It's only a partial. Nothing a good defense attorney can't make disappear, but...it might be enough to get you a warrant. I can send it over or someone can pick it up."

"Great, Hank, that's great. Thanks."

"No problem. Let us know about services, okay?"

"Someone will call as soon as we know anything, I'm sure. Thanks again." He hangs up just as Brett walks in. Dan follows moments later.

They both head for the coffee and Dan speaks for all of them when he turns to look at Chuck's office. "Sometimes I fucking hate this job."

-o-o-O-o-o-

All anyone is talking about in the courthouse is the Chief Marshal's death. Voices lower and eyes swivel toward the door when Winona walks into the break room.

"I heard his head was practically cut off," one of the secretaries whispers. Another woman hushes her, gesturing at Winona. She pours her coffee quickly and leaves, not even taking the time to add sugar.

She's in court all morning; a blissfully mundane trial involving a property rights dispute. There's long-winded testimony about zoning laws and easements and eminent domain, and she records it all without having to think about anything. The judge calls a break for lunch and she gathers her things, steeling herself for what she needs to do next.

In the elevator, she recalls the first time she came with Raylan to the Marshal Office, her first meeting with Chuck; her impression of him as a great bear of a man. How gentle and warm and funny he was. His presence always loomed large in the office, whether he was there or not. She can't quite imagine the place without him.

She peers through the smoked glass before she enters. Raylan, Linda, Dan,and Brett are gathered around Brett's computer. They look up as she pushes the door open.

"Hey," Raylan says. He doesn't smile, but there's relief in his eyes at the sight of her.

Winona walks over and stands beside him and he slips an arm around her waist, his fingers warm through the thin fabric of her blouse. The computer screen is showing a slide show of photos she recognizes from the Chief's summer barbeque, all of them together, laughing.

"Laurel wants us to pick some shots we all like for the memorial service," Linda explains. "I'm even sorrier now that I missed it...looks like you all had a good time."

A photograph appears of the Chief with his arm slung around Raylan's shoulders fresh after his victory in the shooting competition. "That one," Brett says emphatically. Raylan grunts in protest, but Linda hits the 'select' button, and the photo is checked. The pictures continue to roll. They choose one of the chief in mid-joke, obviously enjoying the moment, and another of him stooping to tie Walt's shoe. Walt has one chubby hand on top of the man's head for balance as Chuck is bent over his task. The last photo is of the Chief and Laurel sitting by the bonfire holding hands. Linda chokes up and walks back to her desk for a tissue. Winona leans against Raylan and forces the panic down again.

-o-o-O-o-o-

A young officer brings a copy of Kirk Uline's fingerprint to Raylan in the afternoon. He thanks the young man, glances through the file, and leans back in the chair. Picking up the phone, he calls the D.A.'s office and requests a transcript of Haley's deposition. There's nothing he can do about the Chief, but he can sure as hell do his best to find out what happened to Haley and make sure she and her mother and sister are safe. With any luck, maybe he can get the person responsible for this at the same time.


	54. Chapter 54

Raylan paces outside the church, one eye on Brett and the other pallbearers, one eye on the parking lot watching for Winona's car. The huge lot is practically full and the deacons commandeered for the duty are waving people to the lot across the street. She had to work this morning, but the whole court docket was cleared at noon for those who wanted to attend the service for the Chief Marshal.

She should be here by now. People are arriving in twos and threes and filing somberly into the church. Trina got there twenty minutes ago and went inside to save a seat and wait for Winona. He scans the lot again, running a hand across his bare head. He wishes he had the hat.

"Raylan!" Brett calls. He's gesturing to the other side of the street and Raylan spots her. She crosses the street against the traffic, which has slowed to gape at the crowd and the long line of police cars already positioned in place for the drive to the cemetery later. Her hair is up in one of those impossible twists and she pauses to fish in her purse for something. She swipes the tube of lipstick across her mouth and stops at the steps. He's hidden from her sight by a pillar and the huge wreath of flowers from the casket, but he has a clear view of her. He's sure to any stranger she looks completely poised, but he _knows _her. She tucks a stray strand of hair behind one ear and runs her tongue across her bottom lip.

He can almost hear her sigh; knows she's bracing herself for this. Knows how hard it is. More than anything he wants to wrap his arms around her and tell her it will all be all right. But he can't. He hears the music start from inside, and turns back to the duty at hand.

-o-o-O-o-o-

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night, _

_take these broken wings and learn to fly._

_All your life, _

_you were only waiting for this moment to arise. _

The strains of the old Beatles tune echo through the enormous sanctuary as Winona scans the crowd, but doesn't see Raylan. She's never seen so many people in uniforms all in one place. Spotting Trina's red hair, she hurries down the aisle, heels clicking on the stone tile, and slides into the pew beside her. The church is practically full, but quite a few people are still making their way to the remaining open seats. Several young men are setting up extra chairs in the back. A large screen lowers from the ceiling to the left of the pulpit and pictures begin to flash in time to the music. The fading notes of _Blackbird_ segue into The Stones' _Waiting on a Friend_ as the slide show continues. There are pictures of Chuck as a child with his parents, chubby and smiling, then growing into a young man; playing football and basketball. There are flashes of a Marine in uniform, wedding photos, babies. A life, captured moment by moment, displayed here to bring back memories for those who knew the man, and to give the many simply here to pay respects an idea of who he was.

The strains of the Stones fade away and the music takes on a distinctively mournful, Irish tone. Trina gives a little gasp, wipes her eyes with a tissue and begins to mouth the strange words:

_Sé mo laoch mo Ghile Mear, '_

_Sé mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear, _

_Suan ná séan ní bhfuaireas féin, _

_Ó chuaigh i gcéin mo Ghile Mear._

It stirs something deep inside Winona, even though she can't understand the words. The voice sounds familiar, but she can't place it.

As the song continues, Trina leans over and whispers in her ear. "That's Sting singing. The song is in Gaelic. _Mo Ghile Mear, _means 'my champion' and it's Ireland mourning her dead." While Trina speaks, the slide show finishes with a montage of Chuck and Laurel and Chuck with each of his children, ending with the photo of the couple holding hands at the barbeque.

The last notes of the dirge hang in the air and Trina reaches over and squeezes Winona's hand. She squeezes back, grateful for the other woman's presence.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Laurel's brother, Roy something-or-other, gives a nod and Raylan steps into his place beside the casket on the sidewalk. It's heavy, even with all of them lifting it, and as they slowly mount the steps, he has a fleeting image of the thing slipping from their hands and skating out into the middle of the street. He smiles, thinking Chuck would probably enjoy the ride.

-o-o-O-o-o-

There's a solemn drum roll from the back of the church and Chuck's flag draped casket is rolled down the aisle, flanked by the eight pallbearers, Raylan, Brett, and Dan among them in their black suits. Laurel follows the casket, carrying the youngest child, three-year-old Kelsey. The oldest, son Ian, fourteen, is behind his mother, beside another child, a girl whose name Winona can't remember. Kaitlin, the oldest daughter comes next, holding hands with the last two, twins Michael and Jack, who are Walt's age. An older couple brings up the rear, evidently Laurel's parents, since Raylan had mentioned that Chuck's parents are both dead. Trina's grip is almost painful as the family takes their seats.

Winona hates funerals. They've always brought back memories that she'd rather keep buried, but now they also conjure up a possibility of a future that terrifies her. She can't take her eyes off Chuck's widow. Laurel's back is straight, her shoulders squared, she never flinches or wipes her eyes that Winona can see. She can't imagine being that calm on a day like this and wonders if the woman is drugged. The kids are also stoic. Only the youngest fusses, and she probably doesn't even understand what's going on.

The funeral service is long. After the minister starts the service with a prayer, they all sing a song. Several people speak, including the Deputy Director of the Marshal service, who was here to sort things out and put an interim chief in place as well as pay his respects. The last person to speak is Ian Paul. He bends to kiss his mother's cheek before mounting the steps and Trina lowers her head, tears streaming down her face. Winona stares straight at the young man, but later can't recall a word he said, only that he says it all without breaking down until he leaves the stage and falls into his mother's arms.

She's glad to leave the church and get into Trina's car for the ride to the cemetery.

Trina looks over at her as they wait to be motioned into the long line of cars. "How're you doing with all of this?"

"I'm okay," Winona answers without turning her gaze from the window. She watches as Raylan and the others ease the casket into the hearse. Raylan claps Dan on the back as they walk away, sliding after him into the limo that will follow the family's to the gravesite.

Struck by her own self-absorption she finally glances back at Trina. "How are _you_? How did it go yesterday with the kids?" Laurel had dropped the twins off to play with Walt while she finalized some of the arrangements.

"The boys were fine."

"Laurel?"

"She's absolutely unbelievable," Trina says. She turns the wheel hard to make her way into the line, and her curls bounce around her face. "I'd be a mess, but she just puts one foot in front of the other and keeps going. She actually asked me how Brett was doing."

Winona's glad she isn't the only one that finds the chief's widow a daunting example to follow.

-o-o-O-o-o-

It's crowded in the limo with the eight of them crammed into the two seats facing each other. Raylan's long legs are sticking out at an uncomfortable angle, and he's glad that the drive begins almost as soon as they close the doors.

He thinks about what Ian Paul said just moments before. When the boy went up, Raylan worried that he'd lose his composure, but he'd spoken with a strong sure voice about his father. How he was a good man, a good law officer, but a better father, fair and kind. How there was love, always, whether he was praising or punishing. How he commanded respect, but never fear. Raylan wonders what it would have been like to be raised by a man like that, rather than by Arlo.

-o-o-O-o-o-

It's cold and windy at the cemetery, and Winona finds herself wishing she'd worn a hat or scarf. Her hands and ears burn with the cold and she tugs up the collar of her coat and shoves her hands deep into the pockets. Thankfully, once pall-bearing duties are over, Raylan and Brett join them and she tucks her arm through Raylan's. He leans into her and she can feel his weariness.

This graveside service is mercifully short. Winona flinches with each shot of the 21-gun salute, and Raylan's arm tightens around her. She and Trina cry openly when the Director places the folded flag in Laurel's arms.

Going back to the car, Brett and Trina walk ahead of them, arm in arm. Raylan holds tight to her hand. "I'm glad you're here," he says.


	55. Chapter 55

Dan drums his fingers on the table impatiently waiting for Brett to finish his story. As soon as he does, Dan jumps in. "Yeah, and remember that time a couple of years ago...you weren't here yet, Raylan...that guy we caught dressed in drag at his mother's funeral?" The three of them are sitting at the built-in bar in Brett's family room, jackets off, ties loose, sleeves rolled up. They're drinking whiskey as fast as Brett can pour it.

"He made the ugliest goddamn woman I ever saw." Brett laughs and grabs Raylan's arm for emphasis. "Guy weighed two-fifty, maybe three..."

"At least three," Dan interjects. He swallows down his drink and holds the glass out for more. Raylan holds his out as well. Brett grabs a new bottle from the shelf behind the bar and pours while he talks.

"Anyway, he was _fat._ Had himself stuffed into this black wool dress..."

Dan interrupts again. "It was July. _July._ Must've been ninety degrees in the fucking shade." He takes a swig of whiskey and goes on. "He had on a wig, too, big bouffant hair, and his feet were stuffed into heels. Where he found 'em in his size I've got no idea." Another swallow and the glass is held out again. "Anyway, Chuck had gotten the heads up that the guy might show up at the service and he went out with me. We spotted him right away and he spied us, too. But when he tried to run away in those heels he fell flat on his face."

"But the best part..." It's Brett butting in this time. Raylan tips the chair back and looks from one to the other, the corners of his mouth curling up. "The best part..." Brett continues, "...was when he got up, the front of this dress is soaked. And Chuck says 'What the hell?' "

"Turns out," Dan is laughing so hard now he can hardly spit the words out. "The guy'd stuffed _grapefruit_ in his bra to give himself boobs and when he fell..."

"Splat!" Brett yells, slamming his glass on the bar. He and Dan practically double over in laughter.

"I thought the Chief was going to wet his pants laughing," Dan says. "He had to sit down on the floor and I ended up cuffing the guy and hauling all three hundred pounds of him to the car all by myself."

Brett pours them all another round. He elbows Dan. "Remember Raylan's first prisoner transport? I know _he_ does." He laughs.

"Winona know about that one?" Dan winks at Brett.

"Hey," Raylan protests. "No one told me she was a stripper. Who knew she could strip with one hand cuffed to the door handle?"

"I'da loved to see your face when you looked in the rearview." Brett snorts a laugh. "Heard she had great tits."

Raylan shakes his head. "I almost wrecked the car."

Dan hoots. "Explain that to the State Trooper, Deputy Marshal Givens." He points a long bony finger at Raylan. "I 'member the day Chuck got word we were gettin' you. All he could talk about was what a great goddamn marksman you were. He couldn't wait to see you shoot." Raylan tips his chin down, face flushing hot.

"Guess he was right. You've won every shootin' contest for the past five years. Won him some money, too, since he bet on ya every single time." Brett raises his glass. "Chief was a little worried at first though, I gotta tell ya."

Raylan bites. "Worried? About what?"

"He couldn't get over a Kentucky boy wearin' boots and a cowboy hat," Dan says. "He was afraid it was an 'affectation'."

"Hell," Raylan looks down at his feet. "The boots are comfortable and I just like the hat."

Dan nods and tips his glass back, draining it. "He figured that out." He slides off the barstool. "S'cuse me. I gotta piss like a racehorse."

Brett points in the direction of the bathroom. "First door on the left." He gestures to the bottle and Raylan's almost empty glass. Raylan nods. He knows he's well on his way to shitfaced, but Trina and Winona are drinking wine in the kitchen and she and Brett already suggested they just spend the night, so no one has to worry about driving home.

Brett sucks on a piece of ice, crunching it in his teeth. "Linda's gonna get the interim."

Raylan's eyebrows go up. "Not Dan? I thought he has seniority."

Brett shrugs. "They've got the same number of years in, Dan's just been _here_ longer."

"Is he pissed?"

"Didn't seem to be when he told me."

Dan walks back in glancing at the two of them. "Hell yes, I'm pissed. But I like Linda, she's a good marshal, so I can't be _too _pissed. The Deputy Director said he's sure I'll make Chief, just not here or now."

"I heard Phil Mueller in Miami is retiring at the end of the year," Raylan says.

"Burton in Columbus is around that age, too."

"Ohio?" Dan says. "Hell no. The weather sucks there. Miami, now...maybe...just maybe." He slides his glass across the bar too hard and it sails off. Brett just misses catching it and it crashes to the floor. "Shit. Sorry," Dan says.

"Don't worry about it." Brett grabs another glass off the shelf, pours two fingers and hands it to Dan. He picks up the shards of glass, depositing them into the trash. "Ow! Shit." He presses his hand to his mouth. "Cut myself," he mumbles. He wraps the bar rag around his hand. "Be right back."

"Wanna ask you somethin'." Dan says, leaning in. "You ever think about goin' back to Glynco?"

"Why would I go back?" Raylan cocks his head quizzically.

"As an instructor." Dan says. "Firearms. You're good enough. Better than any instructor I ever had, that's for damn sure." His glass is empty again, and he reaches across the bar for the bottle and pours himself another. He tops off Raylan's as well. "Chuck thought about it. He was gonna recommend you. Don't know if he ever got around to it or not."

Raylan is gratified that Chuck evidently thought he'd make a good instructor, but it's not why he became a Marshal. "I like bein' in the field."

"She like it?"

"She? "Nona?"

"Yeah, not the stripper. That one. Your wife." Dan laughs. His smile fades quickly though. "I've had two. It's not easy on a marriage; despite the way Brett and that titan-haired goddess _he_ married make it look. Somethin' like what happened to the chief, well, it gets women thinkin'."

"She was pretty spooked when I got shot wearin' the vest." Raylan leans both elbows on the bar. "You got kids?"

"One daughter. Emily. She's eight. She lives with wife number one in Chicago."

"That must be hard."

"She brought her out to PA for Dad's service, so I got to spend some time with her at least." Dan slips his wallet out of his pocket and slides a picture over to Raylan.

"Pretty girl."

Dan smiles, taking the picture back . "She's smart, too. All A's."

"He braggin' about that kid of his again?" Brett comes back in, his thumb gauze-wrapped. "Winona asked if you were still upright."

"Newlyweds," Dan snorts. "She just wants to be here to jump him if he goes horizontal."

Brett laughs.

Raylan takes another drink and ignores the ribbing. "How are they doin'?"

"I doubt if either of them could walk a straight line," Brett says. "Other than that, they're fine."

Dan and Brett continue reminiscing about Chuck, and Raylan adds to the conversation here and there but his whiskey-laden mind keeps going back to Dan's suggestion. Glynco? Teaching firearms? Maybe he'd like it. But there's a job to finish here, first, and he's not doing anything until this case is solved.


	56. Chapter 56

_A/N My apologies to Surly Coach. Brett and Raylan got a little silly at the end here, so consolation sex will have to wait until the next chapter._ Sowwy.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"More?" Trina questions, holding the wine bottle above Winona's glass.

"Maybe just half." She nibbles on a cracker.

Trina pours half for Winona and another glass for herself. "Wow. We've pretty much polished off two bottles." She giggles.

Winona hooks a thumb toward the family room. "We'll never catch up with them, no matter how much we drink."

Trina takes a sip of wine and pops a cracker into her mouth. "If we caught up with them, we'd be on the floor."

"At least we've eaten. I don't think they've touched the cheese and crackers you took in there."

"They haven't stopped talking long enough to eat anything."

"Thanks for letting us stay here tonight. And for the comfier clothes, too," Winona says. She's changed from her dress and heels and is wearing a pair of Trina's pre-Walt jeans and a long-sleeved dark blue t-shirt with the U.S. Marshals seal on the front.

"No problem. I'm just glad tomorrow is Saturday and no one has to go to work. Those guys are all going to have horrible hangovers."

"Raylan said he has to go in for a while tomorrow. Doesn't Brett?"

Trina shrugs. "He hasn't said anything."

"I think Raylan is worried about Haley and her family."

"I'm sure he is. Maybe he just wants to go in and work on some angle. Or maybe it's his turn to meet with the Deputy Director. I guess the guy's meeting with all of them before he heads back to D.C. I hope it doesn't turn out like Chicago."

"What do you mean?" Winona's glass is empty, and she twirls the stem between her fingers.

Trina divides the last of the wine between her glass and Winona's and drops the bottle into the recycle bin. "Brett was assigned to Chicago when we met and got married. I was at the Art Institute." Trina looks wistful. "I love Chicago."

"I've never been there. What happened? Why did you leave?"

"The Marshal Service can send you anywhere, you _know_ that, right?"

"Yeah." She knows, but she's never really thought about them leaving Salt Lake City. She likes it here, likes their place, her job, their friends.

"When Brett's Chicago chief retired they came in and completely cleaned house. Reassigned everyone but a couple of guys who were close to retirement themselves. We went to Birmingham, Alabama for a year, but I was so completely miserable Brett _begged _for a transfer and we ended up here."

"That's funny."

"Why?" Trina says, puzzled.

"To end up back where you were from. Your folks were here, right?"

"Now they are. I grew up just outside Chicago. Mom and Dad moved here after Walt was born to be closer to us. My brothers are scattered to the winds, so..."

"Oh," Winona says. "I just assumed."

"I love Chicago," Trina repeats, and she seems to be looking past Winona, her eyes dreamy. "It's a great city. When I was a kid, Mom and I used to take the train in to the city on Saturdays and just walk around the Art museum. They had classes for kids and I whined and pleaded until she signed me up. I worked my ass off in high school to get into SAIC. That's the school attached to the museum."

"What did you study?"

"Fiber arts with an emphasis on education...because I knew I'd need an actual _job_." She laughs. "I thought I'd hate teaching, but it ended up being really rewarding to show other people how to do things I'm good at and enjoy. I mean, not every student loves art, but most are there because they want to be, so it's different than teaching grammar or math. And every once in awhile you get a student who really shines and to know you had a part in that is...awesome."

"I bet you were a good teacher," Winona says, swirling the wine in her glass and watching the golden liquid catch the light. "Even over the phone you made frying that chicken a lot easier."

Trina snorts. "It's just fried chicken." Noting the look on Winona's face, she softens. "Your mom didn't teach you to cook?"

"Nope." Winona holds up her wine glass. "She was too busy drinking."

"Oh." Trina's quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry." Her eyes roam the kitchen. "You know, I could teach you how to cook some things. I mean, I'm no chef, and since the kids I mainly know a lot about macaroni and cheese and meatloaf, but..."

"I'd like that," Winona says. "I'd like that a lot."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Sometime after two a.m., their stories exhausted and the second bottle of whiskey close to empty, Raylan and Brett give in to weariness and alcohol leave Dan passed out in the recliner in the den to make their way to bed.

"Trina's set up the pullout couch in Madeline's room for you and Winona," Brett says. "The baby is sleeping in her bassinet in Walt's room."

"Sounds good. Oof!" Raylan groans as he weaves and slams his shoulder into the corner of the doorway. "Ow! Dammit."

Brett turns around, holding a finger to his lips. "Shhhhh." Then his eyes crinkle. "We're hunting wabbits." He lisps.

Raylan stares at him for a moment, then smothers his laughter with the back of his hand.

"Be vewy vewy qwi-et." Brett says, snickering.

Brett's Elmer Fudd imitation is dead on and Raylan presses his hand harder over his mouth, but a snort of laughter escapes.

"Ooooh, you wascally wabbit. You'we gonna get us in twouble." Brett is clearly amusing himself now, too.

"Stop it you two," Trina hisses from the doorway. "You'll wake up the kids."

"Sowwy," Brett says.

Raylan slides down the wall and sits on the floor, shaking his head at Trina helplessly as she comes out of the bedroom and takes Brett by the hand.

"Good night, Raylan."

" 'Night"

"See you tomowwow," Brett gets out as Trina pulls him toward the bedroom.

"Oh for God's sake." Trina laughs and shuts the bedroom door.


	57. Chapter 57

Winona watches through half closed eyes as Raylan slips into the room. He leaves the door open a crack to let in the light from the hallway until his eyes adjust to the darkness. Closing it with a soft click, he sits heavily on the edge of the bed. He pulls off his boots letting them drop with a clunk onto the floor. He unbuttons his shirt, shrugging it off onto the bed, and then stands, holding onto the rail of the empty crib with one hand for support, as he strips down to his boxers.

She turns toward him as he slides under the covers. "What were you laughing about?" She murmurs, snaking an arm around him and burrowing her head into his shoulder. He's warm and smells like whiskey.

"Brett was talkin' like Elmer Fudd." He laughs.

"Oh." She's sleepy enough that it doesn't really strike her as funny, but she half-listens as he repeats the story, clearly still amused.

"Guess you hadta be there." He remarks when he's finished.

"Guess so," She yawns. "Where's Dan?"

"Passed out in the recliner." He laughs again. "Brett wanted to draw him a handlebar mustache and sideburns but I stopped him."

"How kind of you." She smiles, and kisses the soft skin at the base of his throat. "As much as you were drinking, I'm surprised you aren't passed out yourself." She knows he has to be exhausted from the day, from the week, really. But he's wired. She can feel the energy humming through him.

"I know what you need," she whispers.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona's lips brush his ear and she bites playfully at the tender lobe. "I know _exactly_ what you need." Her fingers trail across his ribs and down his belly, sliding inside the boxers to encircle him.

"Mmmm," she murmurs. "There you are."

He reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, but she laughs and ducks under his hand, her lips moving over his chest instead, pausing for a moment, tongue circling his nipple so that he groans and arches upward.

"Like that, do you?" She teases. "I'll have to remember that." She tugs the boxers down and kisses the way to her goal.

Her mouth is soft, warm, her tongue darts out, drawing him in. He fists her hair, pulling it back from her face to watch her. He would've thought that the amount of whiskey he'd consumed would make this short and sweet, but he finds himself able to hold off longer than he expected. He wants her, but not like this. He wants to kiss her, hold her face in his hands, bring her as much pleasure as she's bringing him.

"Come'ere," He says, giving a gentle tug on her hair. "I want to be inside you."

She lifts her head, raising herself up on her arms to hover over him, smiling. "Oh you do, do you? Okay, then." She lowers her mouth to his and he tastes the saltiness on her lips. He slides the t-shirt up and she raises her arms catching it and tossing it on the floor.

In one swift motion, he flips them so that he's on top. She's more than ready for him and he cups her bottom with one hand as he slides in. Her arms go around his neck, holding him to her as she kisses him. "More," she whispers. "I want all of you."

His fingers glide down the soft skin of her thigh, under her knee, hitching her leg up higher to push even deeper inside her. The sofa-bed groans in protest. He slows his movements, waiting for her to catch up. She shifts and grasps his hand, guiding him where she wants. He smiles into a kiss.

"Like this?"

"Mmm hmm. Harder."

He increases the pressure and there's an immediate response. "Ooooh. Don't stop...ummmm hmm." Her eyes flutter closed, her breaths quick and short.

The bed creaks, and she quivers beneath him, murmuring his name. He covers her mouth with his, and follows her over the edge.

"I love you." She's nestled against him, her back to his chest, and he tightens his arms around her. She raises up and turns to him for a sweet kiss.

"That was amazing. We're going to have to get you drunk more often."

He laughs, then an image of Chuck and the events of the day flashes in his mind and he sobers. "Under happier circumstances, I hope."

She kisses him again, soft. "I love you, Raylan."

They drift to sleep in each other's arms.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Everyone else is up by the time they wander into the kitchen the next morning.

"God, my head." Dan leans on the kitchen counter, both hands wrapped around a huge mug of coffee. "How can you even think about food?"

Brett continues stirring eggs in the skillet. "You gotta eat. It'll make you feel better." He puts two slices of bread in the toaster and pushes the handle down.

"The only thing that's gonna make me feel better is twenty-four hours," Dan groans. "Maybe forty-eight."

Walt is sitting across from Dan, shoveling cereal into his mouth while his wide eyes never leave the man's face. Droplets of milk and soggy pieces of cereal litter the counter where he's missed. Trina is at the sink, wiping at Madeline's face with a cloth. "Morning sleepyheads." She shoots a look at Brett and he smirks.

"Guess we're the last ones up," Raylan says, pouring a cup of coffee for himself. He pours a second cup and hands it to Winona.

"Well, there's no wonder," Brett says. Another look passes between he and his wife, and Trina bursts out laughing.

"What?" Winona looks from Brett to Trina and then at Raylan, who seems as dumbfounded as she is at their odd behavior.

Brett stares down at the skillet. "We have a baby monitor."

"So?" Raylan takes a sip of coffee.

"Oh, God." Winona sets her cup down and covers her face with her hands.

"We forgot to turn it off when we moved Madeline into Walt's room." There's a wide grin on Trina's face, but Raylan is still clueless.

Winona saddles up behind him and whispers in his ear. "They can hear everything that happens in the baby's room."

Now it registers. At least he has the decency to flush. "Oh." He looks down at the counter. Then at Brett, who keeps his eyes averted. "Sorry," Raylan mumbles.

"Nothing to apologize for," Brett says. "In fact, I should probably thank you." Trina slaps him playfully with the towel.

Dan looks around the room and gives a snort. "I'm way too hungover for this conversation. Not to mention babe-less at the moment. I'm outta here, boys and girls. See you all at the office." He bends to kiss Trina's cheek on his way out. "Thanks for the hospitality."

"You really heard us?" Winona moans when Dan is gone.

"Every word." Trina nods.

"And some things that weren't words at all." Brett adds. "That couch creaks something awful."

Raylan doesn't say a word. He just stares into his coffee cup. Walt wipes his mouth on his pajama sleeve and slips off his stool. He tugs at Raylan's shirt. "Wanna play cars? You can have the fire truck."

"That's the best idea I've heard all day, Buddy." Raylan sighs in relief and makes his exit.


	58. Chapter 58

Brett walks into the family room balancing two plates of eggs and toast on his arm and carrying the coffee carafe in the other hand.

Raylan looks up from the floor where Walt is driving his new bulldozer in circles around the firetruck and making appropriate sounds. "Wow. I'm impressed at your amazing balancing skills."

"I waited tables at iHop in college. Pancakes are heavier. These eggs are a breeze." He sets the plates down and refills Raylan's coffee cup. "Eat up. You'll feel better."

Raylan looks dubiously at the eggs. "What're those green things?"

"Jalapeños."

"Jalapeños? In eggs?" He picks at them with the fork.

"You sound like Walt," Brett laughs. Walt looks up at the mention of his name, then goes back to his play.

Raylan takes a bite of toast. "Jalapeños, huh?"

"Yeah, there's some pepper jack cheese in there, too. My spicy eggs and toast. Surefire hangover cure."

"If you say so." Raylan takes a bite. "Not bad. I'm really not that hungover though."

"I hate you." Brett sighs and takes another forkful of his own eggs. "My head is pounding. You drank as much as I did...why the hell don't you feel as shitty?"

"Moonshine."

"What?" Brett scrapes the last of the egg from his plate and finishes the toast in two bites.

"I got started on moonshine when I was a kid, so I seem to have a pretty high tolerance for everything else." He shrugs. "Moonshine'll kick your ass."

"I'd imagine." Brett eyes Raylan for a moment. "Your daddy a bootlegger?"

"Naw. That'd be too much work for Arlo. Aunt Helen made moonshine though. She never _gave _me any, but I suspect she knew my buddies and I would take a jar every now and then and she never called me on it."

"Kentucky boys being Kentucky boys."

"Somethin' like that."

Trina calls from the kitchen. "Honey? Your phone's ringing."

Brett leaves to answer the call and Raylan sets his place on the table. He slides back down to the floor and reaches for the fire-truck. Walt stops pushing the bulldozer across the carpet. "What's moonshine?" He asks, without looking up.

Raylan decides honesty is best. "Somethin' to drink."

"Does it taste good?"

He laughs. "No, it tastes terrible."

"Like medicine?" Walt, having had recent experience with medicine, turns his mouth down in a grimace.

"Yeah, kinda."

"I don't want any."

"That's good," Raylan says. "That's good." He ruffles the boy's hair and pushes to his feet. "I'll be back, okay?"

Walt nods, quickly absorbed in his play again.

In the kitchen, Winona is sitting at the bench holding Madeline in her lap. The six-month old is slapping her fists on the counter, stuffing one and then the other into her mouth. The edge of the counter is covered in saliva. "She's teething."

Raylan offers a finger, which Madeline grabs eagerly. It goes immediately into her mouth and she happily gnaws on it.

"Ow."

"Yeah, imagine that on other, more tender body parts," Trina says, scooping the baby up and holding her above her head. She lowers her and blows onto her stomach, making a loud _pffffftt_. Madeline giggles and a stream of drool dribbles onto Trina.

Brett is pacing in the hallway off the kitchen. "Okay, no, that's fine, I'll give him the message. Yeah, I'll tell him. Bye, Linda."

"Deputy Director wants you there for a meeting at two this afternoon. Linda says you need to start leaving your cell phone on. She's tried to call you twice. Chuck put up with it but she isn't going to."

Raylan huffs.

"Her words, not mine, Buddy."

"It's in the _car_. I just forgot it. The battery is probably dead."

"Yeah, well, you have a habit of not answering anyway." Brett sets the phone down. "Sounds like she's getting some crap from the Director."

Trina casts a worried glance at her husband. "Do you think...?"

Brett shrugs. "Who knows?"

"What?" Raylan asks. He pours himself one more cup of coffee and leans back against the counter. "You think there's a shake-up comin'?"

"Could be." Brett nods. "That's what happened in Chicago when Frank retired."

Winona's gaze wanders the warm kitchen, settling briefly on each of them in turn. "I hope not. I like it here."

Raylan lays a hand on her shoulder. "It'll be okay. We've got a good team here. We all get along and work well together. They'll probably leave us alone."

"I hope you're right." Brett says, but Raylan hears the doubt in his friend's voice.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan's never taken to the few people he's met who wield a great deal of power. The Deputy Director is no exception. Bill Larcomb is short, with a receding hairline and an expanding waistline. He's obviously gained since he bought the suit he's wearing, since the pants hang low to let his belly protrude over the top. His tie is an atrocious shade of blue not found in nature. Raylan can't stop staring at it.

"Givens. Raylan Givens." The man says. "Kentucky boy, I see."

"Yessir."

"Any interest in heading back that way? I got a position opening up in Cincinnati in a few months. Not quite Kentucky, but close."

"God, no," Raylan mutters before he can stop himself.

Larcomb lets out a laugh and Raylan likes him a little bit better.

"I like it here just fine. Thank you for the offer anyway."

"Alright, alright. Let's see." He flips open the file spread out on the table. At least he hasn't taken over Chuck's office. Using it so soon would seem disrespectful. Linda is conducting her interim duties from her own desk, but the door to the Chief's office is open for access.

"Says here you were top of your class at FLETC. Graduated with distinctions in marksmanship."

"Yessir."

"You keep it up?"

"I hit the range once a week or so. Not as much lately. Been busy around here."

"Recently married, too, I hear."

"Yes."

"She understand the job? "'Cause I can testify it's a boatload of trouble when they don't."

He's heard warnings twice in the last twenty-four hours, first from Dan and now from this shirt. "She understands," he says, but he's not as certain as his words would imply.

Larcomb nods. "That's good." He flips another page over in the file. "Chief Paul liked you, Givens. High marks. Says you balk a bit at authority, but that's not always a bad thing."

There's nothing to say to that, so Raylan stays quiet, watching the other man's body language.

"Okay, I guess that's it," the Deputy Director says. "Nice to meet you, Deputy Givens." He shuts the file and stands, holding out his hand. Raylan shakes it and turns to leave.

"Oh," Larcomb says, as if it's an afterthought, but Raylan sees a tightness in the man's shoulders that tells him it's rehearsed. "Don't worry too much about a 'shake-up' here. Rumors fly in situations like this. There are no intentions of breaking this office up."


	59. Chapter 59

"You don't believe him?" Winona pushes the plate with her half-finished burger to the edge of the table so the waitress will pick it up. She wraps both hands around her beer bottle and watches Raylan chew the last bite of his own burger.

He snags a handful of her uneaten fries and transfers them to his plate. He shrugs. "I got nothin' to go on, just a feeling." He tips back the bottle, finishing his beer.

"And if they tell you to go somewhere..."

"Yeah, I...we...gotta go." He picks up the ketchup and pours a new puddle on his plate, swishing a fry around in it. "You knew that."

She takes a long swallow from her beer. "Sure I _knew_ it, but I've never really thought about it." Not entirely true. Since Brett brought it up she's hardly thought about anything else.

"I don't like it any more than you do. It's just part of the job." He motions to the waitress for the check.

Yancey's is right down the street from their apartment. It's a small, narrow building, with a long bar of dark polished wood along one wall and six or seven broad booths lining the other. The food is a good mix of bar favorites and some Irish staples like Hunter's pie, leek and potato soup, and corned beef sandwiches. It's become a habit to eat here at least once a week. Sometimes, if the weather is good like tonight, they walk there and back.

Raylan holds her coat as she slides her arms in. Setting the hat on his head, he shrugs into his own jacket and waits while she winds the scarf Trina gave her for Christmas around her neck and pulls on her gloves. It's cold, but not frigid, and there's a dusting of new snow falling as they exit the restaurant. It's a pretty night. He wraps an arm around her. "It's nothing for sure. I just want us to be prepared, that's all."

"I'd miss Trina and Brett." She knows darn well he'd miss them too, but he doesn't say anything, just tightens his arm around her. They stop to wait for the light to change and she looks up at him. "As long as I'm with you, though, I'll be fine, wherever we are." She feels him relax. That's what he needed to hear.

"Anywhere but Kentucky?" he says with a grin.

The light changes and she bumps her hip against his. "Anywhere but Kentucky," she agrees.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Raylan! Phone," Dan calls. "It's that kid in juvie, Jeremiah Fowler. Isn't he the one who shot you?"

"Yeah, but..."

"So why would he be calling you?"

"He's a good kid. He's helped us out quite a bit. Maybe he's thought of something else," Raylan waits for the line to light up and presses the button. "Deputy Givens."

"I need to talk to you," Jemmy says without preliminaries. "Can you come out here? I don't want to talk over the phone." He's keeping his voice low, as if he's afraid someone might be listening.

"Sure...but why..."

"Today? Can you come out here today?" Jemmy's voice crackles with urgency.

"Ye-ah, I should be able to make it after lunch. What's goin' on?"

"And check on Rachel. Can you check on my sister for me? Please?"

"I'll do that right now."

"Okay. I gotta go." Raylan hears him mumble a _thank you_ to someone as he hangs up.

"Hey, Dan, was the number on that incoming the SLJDC?"

Dan glances at his phone and pushes a few buttons. "No, that's odd, it's a private cell-phone number. They don't let 'em have cell phones out there, do they?"

"Nope. Can you run it for me? I'm gonna give the sister's foster home a call."

There's no answer at Rachel's foster home, but it's a school day and still early. Mrs. Lambert might still be taking the kids to school, but considering everything he decides to take a drive out there to check.

"It's a cell registered to a Robert Webb." Dan calls from his desk.

"Let me guess," Raylan says, standing and setting the hat on his head. "He's a teacher at juvie."

Dan stares at him. "Now how the hell did you know that?"

"I'm good. You said so yourself."

Dan rolls his eyes. "Where're you going?"

"Out to check on Jemmy's sister, Rachel. The foster mom isn't answering the phone."

"Want some company?"

"Sure, the more the merrier." Raylan tosses him the keys. "You drive."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"So Brett's worried, too?" Winona asks. She cradles the phone with her chin and types while she talks, transcribing some trial notes for the bailiff to give to the judge.

"Yeah. We talked a little last night. He thinks a shake-up's inevitable, but Brett's always been a bit of a pessimist."

Winona laughs. "Is it because of the job, you think, or are they in the job _because_ they're pessimists?"

"I don't know." Trina admits.

"Raylan's always telling me things will be alright, but I get the feeling he doesn't believe it himself."

"Brett does the same thing. I asked him if he thought I should tell my parents, you know, give them a heads up...they moved here to be with us, after all, and if we get sent somewhere else..." she sighs. "They really like it here and they've made quite a few friends. I don't know what they'll do. I'm just glad Walt isn't in school yet."

"At least Raylan and I only have ourselves to worry about."

There's silence on the other end of the phone. "No matter what, we'll keep in touch, okay? Let's promise each other that."

"I promise," Winona says.

"It's up to women to do that, you know. Men aren't the best at holding onto things. With them it's 'outta sight outta mind'."

"There's e-mail and phone calls and visits. We'll handle it if we have to."

"It's been a long time since I've had a friend I could talk to like you. It's like having a sister."

Winona stops typing and reaches for a tissue. "Me, too." She wipes her eyes before the tears can streak her make-up. "Hey, I actually have work to do here." She laughs. "I'd better go."

"Alright, but we're still on for Friday, right?"

"To hear your brother's band? You bet. We're looking forward to it."

-o-o-O-o-o-

To Raylan's relief, Janis Lambert opens the door on the first knock. "Sorry I missed your call," she says, after introductions are made and they're standing in the small living room. Toys are scattered on the floor and there's a small girl playing quietly with a doll. She looks up at them with wide fear-filled eyes, then at Mrs. Lambert.

"It's okay, Janelle, they aren't here for you," she says softly. "She's new. Still jittery. Loves Rachel though. She's really good with her."

"Where Rachel?" The girl says, as if on cue.

"School, remember? She'll be home after you eat lunch and take a nap."

That seems to satisfy the child and she goes back to playing.

"So, why did you need to talk to me?"

"I'm not sure if you heard..."

"About the marshal who was killed and those other girls who were taken? Of course I heard. My husband went to the service."

"He's a deputy sheriff," Raylan tells Dan.

She crosses her arms over her chest and levels her gaze at them. "He called and talked to someone at your office...they said the SLPD would do drive-bys but I haven't seen them. Bill comes by when he's on duty and calls two or three times a day. The other deputies know the situation, too."

"What about the school?" Dan asks. "How's security there?"

Mrs. Lambert shrugs. "Okay. No metal detectors, but the kids can't leave campus without an authorized person signing them out, unless it's the end of the day. The school's aware of what's going on with Rachel."

"Good," Raylan nods and fiddles with the hat passing it from one hand to the other, running his fingers along the brim. "I got a call from Jemmy this mornin'. He seems worried about somethin'. I'm heading out there this afternoon to talk to him."

"You'll let us know? I think she'd really like to see him again."

"You can take her out anytime during visiting hours, Ma'am," Dan says.

"I know." She glances around. "Sometimes it's hard to get away with the other kids, but I should do it. I will." She nods emphatically.

"I'll tell him that. I'm sure it'll make him feel better."

"You haven't noticed anything suspicious?" Dan asks.

"No." She shakes her head. "There was a car...I didn't think anything of it, but..."

"What kind of car?" Raylan has his notepad out. "When did you see it?"

"Just a couple days ago. It was a gray sedan, big,...dark windows..." She walks to the window and pulls back the drape, pointing across the street. "It parked over there. I couldn't tell if anyone was in it or not because of the windows. I looked again about an hour later and it was gone."

"Was Rachel home?"

"No, she was at school."

"Was it around time for her to come home?"

"No, I take her and pick her up everyday anyway."

"Keep doing that," Dan says.

"And let us know if you see the car again," Raylan adds. He scribbles his cell number on the back of a card and gives it to her. "Call me, anytime."

She pockets the card. "Thank you."

"Tell Rachel I'll call her later and let her know how Jemmy is."

"I appreciate that."

"You be careful now," Dan says. "And don't hesitate to call with anything. We want to make sure Rachel and the rest of you are safe."

"I'm married to a LEO," she says with a small smile. "I know the drill."

She walks them to the door and Raylan hears the lock click shut behind them.


	60. Chapter 60

"These reports are way overdue," Linda says, tapping a finger on the stack of files on Raylan's desk. "We're all behind in paperwork and the Deputy Director isn't happy about it. I need you to get these to me ASAP."

Raylan sighs and scratches behind his ear with the pencil in his hand. "I was gonna head out to SLVDC and talk to Jemmy Fowler this afternoon."

"You can do anything you want as long as these reports are on my desk in the morning."

"That's at least four hours of paperwork," Raylan sighs.

"Your time, your call," Linda says. "I'm up to my more-than-substantial ass in my own paperwork."

He knows that's true. On top of all the monthly financial, mileage, and office related bureaucratic bullshit, she has the report on Chuck's death to file. He's glad that duty automatically fell to her as interim director. She'd interviewed him one more time to be sure the facts were clear, but now his part in it is done. However much he may hate certain aspects of _his _job, hers is worse. She looks as though the stress is already taking its toll. There's no need for him to make it any more difficult.

"It'll be there."

"Thanks, Raylan, I appreciate it."

Brett looks at him over his own pile. "Don't feel bad. I'm in the same boat here."

"Then why don't you come with me out to see Jemmy and we'll keep each other company later doin' paperwork?"

Brett shakes his head. "I would, but Trina's got her book-club tonight so I promised I'd be home on time."

"Book-club?"

"Yeah, some Oprah thing. Hasn't she invited Winona yet?" He tosses his pen on the desk and runs a hand through his hair. "I'm gonna have to work through lunch to get all this shit done."

"I'm free," Dan says, popping up from his desk with his usual excessive energy. "I'll even drive."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Let me do the talkin'," Raylan says as they push through the doors of SLVDC and show their badges to the desk clerk.

Dan shoots him a look. "Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Raylan shrugs. "Jemmy trusts me. But I want to talk to Bob Webb first."

"The teacher? You want to find out how he happened to let Jemmy use his cell phone?"

"_If _he let Jemmy use it."

"You think the kid took it?"

"Maybe."

They ask the clerk to page the teacher. Robert Webb emerges from a secured door, straightens his tie, and walks quickly over. "Well, Marshal, this is the second time you've interrupted a literary discussion, this time on F. Scott Fitzgerald."

"_Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy_," Dan quotes.

The teacher beams at Dan in approval, before turning his gaze back to Raylan. "I see you've brought a well-educated friend along this time. What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Raylan doesn't beat around the bush. "I got a call this morning from your cell phone."

Mr. Webb puts his hands in his pockets and stares at the floor for a long moment before answering. "The kids who come through this place...most of them it's hard to care about. They're so far gone...closed off..." He takes a breath. "I'm a _teacher_." He speaks the word with reverence. "I believe in the power of education, especially the power of the written word. I believe it can change lives." He shakes his head. "But it's easy to get cynical and discouraged here." He glances from Dan to Raylan. "I'm sure it's the same in your occupation. You go in thinking you can change things and make them better and..." He raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Sorry...I tend to go on..."

_"No kidding," _Dan mouths to Raylan.

"Jeremiah Fowler is an intelligent, kind, hard-working young man. I know why he's here, but..."

Raylan can't take it anymore. "Look...I just want to know...did you let the kid use your phone this morning?"

"Yes, Marshal, I did."

"Isn't that against regulations?" Dan asks.

"It is. In fact, it could get me fired." Webb nods. "If you tell anyone."

"I'm not tellin' anyone."

Dan looks at Raylan. "But..."

Raylan catches the other man's eye. "None of our business."

"Why would you risk your job for this kid?" Dan asks.

"Jeremiah has such potential. He's an excellent student. He'll have no trouble graduating early in our program. He's already doing college level work."

"So?"

"He got a something in the mail that upset him. He said he needed to use a phone to make a call no one would know about. He thinks someone here ...the point is, he trusted me." He shakes his head. "I couldn't tell him 'no'."

"Did he tell you why he was upset?"

"No."

"Alright," Raylan says. "Can you bring him out to the visitors room?"

"I'd be happy to." He walks back toward the secured door. "Thank you, Marshal."

Raylan tips his hat.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Jemmy's been sitting at the table for a good ten minutes, without saying a word, looking down and clenching and unclenching his fist.

Dan keeps raising his eyebrow at Raylan, impatient, but Raylan just sits quietly and waits.

"Your sister's fine," he says after a few minutes, hoping to move things along. "We've got people watchin' the house and the foster dad is a deputy sheriff. She's as safe as she possibly can be."

The tension in the boy's shoulders eases, but another five minutes or so tick by before Jemmy reaches into the pocket of his shirt. One of the guards makes a move toward them, but Raylan waves him off. Jemmy slides an envelope across the table. "This came at mail call yesterday."

Raylan takes the envelope and holds it upside down by one corner. A single folded piece of paper falls out. He opens it. It's a photograph, printed on plain paper on a cheap printer, but the image is unmistakable. It's Rachel, laughing, books under her arm, walking in what's obviously a school hallway.

"That's Rachel." Jemmy says.

"I know." Wordlessly he hands the photo to Dan.

Jemmy slaps the table with his fist. "I thought you were supposed to keep her safe!"

"We are keepin' her safe." Raylan says.

"Then how did someone get close enough to take this? If they're that close they could grab her...you know they could." He's getting more and more agitated. "I read about what happened to Haley and her family. You were supposed to protect them too!"

"Our chief _died _protecting them." Dan hisses at the boy.

Jemmy's eyes widen and he looks back at Raylan. "How do you _know_ she's safe?"

"I said she's as safe as she can be. Moving her now...well, it just wouldn't be smart. We're watching the house, if anyone suspicious comes around we'll..."

"You're using her for bait!" Jemmy jumps up out of the chair and this time the guard is across the room in one movement, hands on the young man's shoulders pushing him back down into the chair. He stands motionless behind him.

Raylan leans in closer to Jemmy. "We're not using Rachel for bait. We're not doing anything different than we were doin' before. We're just payin' closer attention to the comings and goings on the street. Anyone looks suspicious, we'll pick 'em up and see what they have to say."

"If anything happens to her..." The young man's eyes fill and he swipes at the tears angrily.

"I'm gonna do my best to make sure nothin' does," Raylan says.


	61. Chapter 61

When he returns to the office, there's a note on his desk to call Hank Reynolds at SLCPD, Homicide. "Hey, Hank," he says when the clerk connects him. "Raylan Givens. Whatcha got for me?"

"Not as much as I'd like, but maybe it'll help." There's a rustling of paper on the other end. "We pulled in Kirk Uline. Asked him exactly two questions before he lawyered up."

"What two questions?"

"Asked him where he was the night in question and whether he could prove it."

"What'd he say?" Raylan tucks the phone under his chin and takes the top file from the stack. He leafs through it, signing a final report and attaching his receipt for gas.

"Says he was at dinner in the compound and that several other people, all men, all members of the Covenant, of course, can testify to that."

"So that's it?"

"We have another interview scheduled with him and his lawyer. That's why I called. Thought you might want to be there. Especially considering who his lawyer is."

"Oh?" He tosses a second file on top of the first and mentally adds up the rest. There's at least twenty, some needing more extensive work than others. "Who's the lawyer?"

"Parker Reeve."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Just how late are you going to be?" She doesn't mean to whine or nag but she's worked hard to surprise him with homemade lasagna for dinner. Trina gave her the recipe and took time to go to the grocery with her after work and make sure she got everything she needed. She bought salad and bread and a good bottle of red wine, too. There's even some of his favorite ice cream for dessert. Now everything is almost ready and he just called to say he has to stay late to do paperwork.

He sighs, clearly exasperated at her unsympathetic response. "I don't know. There's a lot to do here and I promised Linda I'd have it to her in the morning."

"I wish you'd told me earlier," she says, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

"I'm sorry. I got busy with other stuff and forgot to call. Aren't you going to Trina's book club? Brett said she invited you."

"And you seriously thought I'd go? Really? I don't like those kinds of books. I like Janet Evanovich and Nora Roberts. Trina's book group is reading some novel about the Holocaust. Ugh. I want to be entertained when I read, not given a history les..."

He interrupts. "Listen, the longer I talk the longer I'll be. I'll see you when I get home. Don't wait to eat."

"Don't worry," she snaps. "I won't."

-o-o-O-o-o-

He's not sure what he expects when he unlocks the door and walks into the apartment. Winona sounded pretty mad on the phone. He doesn't get it. It's not like he's never been late before, or forgotten to call. Maybe it's 'that time of the month'. At least he knows better than to ask her if it's _that. _

It's just past nine, which is a lot earlier than he'd thought he'd be home. All but one of the reports is on Linda's desk though, and the last one is waiting for a witness statement he can't find in his files but he's pretty sure Brett has a copy. He'll grab that in the morning.

There's a lingering aroma of something wonderful and his empty stomach growls. He glances around the kitchen. No food. No dirty plate. No pots and pans. Maybe she ordered out? He checks the trash, but it's empty of any evidence. The television flickers in the living room. He tosses his hat and keys on the counter and goes in search of his wife.

Winona is curled in one corner of the couch twisting the stem of an empty wine glass in her hand.

"You still mad?"

She doesn't answer. He tries again.

"Somethin' smells good. You order pizza?"

"No," she says without looking at him. "I made lasagna. It was pretty good, too. Sorry you missed it."

_Shit_. She cooked dinner. Well, hell, how was he supposed to know that? "You made lasagna?" He sits on the couch beside her and she pulls her feet in so they aren't touching him. _Geeze. _She is _pissed. _"I didn't eat any dinner so I'm pretty hungry. Did you eat it all?" He's trying to joke, but she's clearly not in the mood to be cajoled out of her anger.

"The rest is in the refrigerator. Help yourself." She sets the wine glass down, but her eyes continue to focus on some television show he knows she's not really watching.

"Come on, 'Nona," he says, scooting closer. "I didn't know you made dinner. Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugs. "Would it have made a difference?"

"Not with the paperwork, but I coulda come home and then gone back. Would that've been better?"

Another shrug, but she hasn't moved away. He brushes the hair back from her face and she finally turns toward him. Her eyes are icy. "I was disappointed. You could have called earlier."

"I know." He leans in to kiss her. At first she pulls back, then she palms his face with both hands and the ice in her eyes melts as she looks into his. "I can't stay mad at you, dammit." She kisses him, soft.

"Lucky me." He slides a hand inside the loose shirt she's wearing over her jeans and fondles a breast.

She grabs his wrist and stops him. "Don't push it, Cowboy."

"Okay, okay," he laughs and holds his hands up in mock surrender.

She smiles and shakes her head, picking up her wine glass and rising from the couch. "You want some lasagna?"

"I'd love some."

He follows her out to the kitchen and she fixes a plate and warms it in the microwave. She refills her wine glass, but Raylan shakes his head when she offers him wine and grabs a beer from the fridge instead.

"You want a salad?"

"Nah. But that bread looks good." He takes a bite of the lasagna, fully prepared to tell her it's delicious even if it tastes like crap, but it doesn't. It's _really_ good. "This is great."

Her eyes light up. "It is?"

"Yep." He finishes the first piece in four bites. "Can I have more?"

"You can eat the whole thing if you want," she says, beaming at him. "You really like it?" Her eyes narrow and she gazes at him suspiciously. "Or do you just want to get laid?"

"Oh, I'm going to get laid." He pulls her in for a kiss. "Or rather, _you_ are. But I'm not lyin'; it's delicious. Thank you. I'm sorry you had to eat alone."

"I didn't eat that much. I was too mad to be hungry."

"Here, have a bite." He loads some onto the fork and feeds it to her.

"Mmmm. It _is_ pretty good, isn't it?" She takes a sip of wine and smiles. Undoing a button of her shirt and leaning on the counter, she gives him a generous view.

"Yep, but not as good as what I'm gonna have in a few minutes here." He grins at her.

"Oh, yeah? What's that? Ice cream? There's ice cream for dessert," she teases.

"I'm gonna have dessert, but it ain't gonna be ice cream." He puts the fork down and takes the plate to the sink, coming back and wrapping his arms around her from behind. He lifts the sheet of hair and whispers into her neck. "You know what I wanna do now?" He asks, pressing his hips against her backside.

"I have a pretty good idea."

"Well, I have a whole lot of good ideas." He lifts her up and carries her, giggling, all the way to the bedroom. Tossing her face down on the bed he reaches around and unsnaps her jeans, easing the zipper down and pulling them off. She wriggles out of her panties and starts to turn over.

"Wait," he says, unzipping and slipping out of his own jeans and boxers, dropping them on the floor. "Get up on your knees."

She looks over her shoulder at him, grins wickedly and pushes her ass up in the air. "Like this?" She scoots back toward him, one ankle hooking around his thigh.

"Yeah," he murmurs, watching her. "Just like that." He grasps her hips with both hands and pushes in with a groan. Holding her tight against him and moving slowly, he reaches around and finds her, stroking gently until she responds, bucking back, taking all of him in.

"So I might have some of that ice cream now," he says after, stroking her hair as she lies across his chest. "I'm a little over-heated."

"Umm hmmm. Yes, you certainly_ are_ hot." She giggles. "You want ice cream, you're gonna have to get it yourself. I don't think my legs will work yet."

He kisses her forehead. "Did I make it up to you for bein' late?"

"And then some, Cowboy, and then some."


	62. Chapter 62

Linda pushes her chair back from the desk and crosses her legs. "As much as we all want to find out who took those girls and murdered Chuck, his murder is out of our jurisdiction. That's a matter for Salt Lake Homicide."

"Yeah, I know," Raylan says. "But they offered to let me sit in, and this guy could have direct knowledge of where Lena, Haley, and Taylor are. That _is _our jurisdiction. We're s'posed to be protectin' them."

"I know that. I just don't want to step on anyone's toes here. Chuck had a good working relationship with the locals and I want to keep it that way."

Raylan's hand is on his hip and he doesn't attempt to hide his frustration. Chuck would've sent him on his way already, with his blessing. He knows Linda is in a precarious situation and wants to avoid mistakes, but if she's going to be pussyfooting around like this all the time trying not to offend anyone it's gonna get old pretty quick. "Hank Reynolds invited me. He wants me there. Come on, Linda..." He shifts his weight and rubs the back of his neck with one hand. "I promised Haley she'd be alright if she talked to the D.A. and look what's happened. I gotta do _somethin'_. She's just a kid, Linda."

She looks him up and down. "God, you're stubborn. Alright, go. But you listen and observe. That's it. Keep your mouth shut."

He nods even though he has no intention of sitting there like a dummy. He already has a list of questions for Kirk Uline in his head, and a couple for his lawyer, too. He's sure Hank Reynolds will be cool with it. What Linda doesn't know won't hurt her.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Winona, the clerk needs to see you in his office." Janine, the receptionist tells her when she walks in.

After putting her coat and purse in her own office, Winona knocks on the Clerk of Courts' door. She likes Matt Steen. He hired her when she first came to Salt Lake three years ago, and he's a fair and honest boss. "Come in." Matt looks up when she enters and motions to the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat." He folds his hands in front of himself, looks down and takes a deep breath.

"You're one of the best court reporters I have," he starts. "But unfortunately you're also the last one we hired. The city budget's been cut to ribbons and I've got to make some painful decisions."

Winona's stomach does a flip.

"I've got to lay you off." He shakes his head. "I hate it. I'm hoping that things will change soon, or that the court docket will fill up to the point that I can hire you back, but..." He slides a paper across the desk. "You're excellent and all the attorneys know it. Here's a list. I've put stars by the best firms. Some of these firms keep reporters on a retainer, some of them will just call when they need you." He lays another sheet on top. "This is my very complimentary reference letter and I know any judge you've worked with would be happy to write one as well."

Winona picks up the papers to have something to do, but her hands are trembling and the papers flutter to the floor. She stoops to pick them up and stands facing the clerk. "I am so sorry, Winona," Matt says. "I hate doing this."

"It's not your fault," she says. "You don't make the budget."

"I know but I still feel lousy." He hands her yet another paper. "You need to turn this in to human resources. Friday will be your last day. I'm really sorry," he says again.

The tears she's done her best to quell threaten to spill over, so she takes the paper and leaves quickly. Her office is clear at the end of the hall and there's a gauntlet of people she doesn't want to talk to between here and there. She slips into the stairwell instead and leans against the wall. She's never been fired before. She knows this isn't exactly being _fired_, but still she's out of a job. How is she going to tell Raylan? She wonders if they can even afford the apartment on just his salary. He makes good money, but the place is expensive. She and Katie barely made rent some months. Because of that, she has more on her credit card than she would like and Raylan has no idea. He never asked and she didn't volunteer. She hadn't had any trouble paying the monthly bill on her own. Now she's going to have to tell him about that, too. _Shit._

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Hey, Raylan, glad you could make it." Hank Reynolds greets him just inside the homicide cage. "Uline and his attorney called to say they'd be a little late. Pretty typical, let's them keep us hanging for a bit. You want some coffee?"

"Sure." Raylan follows the man to the back of the room. There's an industrial size coffee maker and a box full of fresh doughnuts.

"Help yourself," Hank says. "You'll probably never have to worry about gaining weight. You play basketball in school?"

"Baseball," Raylan says. He looks the doughnuts over, chooses a creme-filled, and takes a bite. The sweetness contrasts perfectly with the strong coffee.

"I played some ball myself. You should come out for the LEO league in the spring. We have a lot of fun."

"I'll think about it."

"Not a pitcher by any chance, are you?"

"Nah, played shortstop and fielded mostly. Hit pretty good, though. Either way." He grins.

"Shame. Our pitching is lousy. We can always use a decent switch-hitter though." He grabs a chocolate-covered doughnut and looks at Raylan guiltily. "My wife's kill me if she saw me eating this. "_We_" are on a diet." He grimaces.

The door to Homicide swings open and two men enter. One is about Raylan's height, but heavier, with dark blond hair combed straight back from a high forehead. The other is dark, almost swarthy, with a five o'clock shadow at ten in the morning. "Gentlemen," Captain Reynolds says. "Thank you for coming in. Right this way."

The interview room is bare except for a long table and six straight-backed chairs. There's a camera in the corner and a sign on the wall states that all interactions in the room are subject to visual and audio recording. Hank takes one of the chairs closest to the door and motions for Raylan to sit next to him.

"Who's this?" The blond man sets a briefcase on the table. "Our interview is with the Salt Lake City Police, Homicide Division. Nothing was mentioned about a U.S. Marshal being present."

Raylan's impressed. Parker Reeve is an observant man. That's surprising.

"As you can imagine," Reynolds says. "The Marshal service has an interest in this case, considering the victim was Chief Deputy Charles Paul. Not to mention that three witnesses under his protection that night have disappeared."

Reeve gives Raylan a non-committal glance. "We'll allow it."

He's an arrogant asshole, too, evidently. That's not as surprising. Raylan thinks about this man with his hands on Haley and his gut clenches in fury. He levels a stare that Reeve ignores.

Hank begins by identifying the people in the room for the recording. He asks a few simple questions, then opens the file in front of him. "Mr. Uline, you told me the other day that you were nowhere near the Trimble St. property on the night in question, is that correct?"

"Yes, like I told you, I had dinner in the compound and then met with some of the other men to discuss some upcoming business."

"Here's a list of names of the men who can collaborate his story." Parker Reeve passes a paper across the table. Hank glances at it and passes it to Raylan. None of the names are familiar.

"Have you ever been to the house at Trimble Rd.?"

"No, I've never been there. I don't even know where Trimble Rd. is, Captain." He smiles nervously.

Hank smiles back like a hungry shark who's just spotted a nice big fish. "Then can you explain how this partial fingerprint, matched to yours from a DUI arrest in 2007, showed up on the kitchen doorframe? Inside? Less than two feet from where the Deputy Chief's body was discovered by Marshal Givens."

Uline looks panicked but Parker Reeve stays cool. "A partial print? Really? That's your evidence?" He gathers his papers. "I think we're done here. Come on, Kirk." Both men stand.

"Just a goddamn minute." The Captain's voice is commanding. "I'll tell you when we're done. I'm betting a partial print is at least enough to get us a warrant to come out and tear into your compound." He hooks a thumb at Raylan. "Maybe bring the Marshal service around to take a look for those missing witnesses. _Underage_ witnesses. That what you want?"

"Good luck getting that warrant, Captain." Reeve places a hand on Kirk Uline's arm and guides him to the door. "We'll see ourselves out."

"Think you can get that warrant?" Raylan picks up the hat off the table and puts it on.

"I'm sure as hell gonna try. You in if we do?"

"Damn right."


	63. Chapter 63

Winona climbs the last flight of stairs and comes out into the hallway across from the Marshals' office. She hates to bother Raylan at work, but there's no way she can carry this around all day without talking to him. She breathes quietly, collecting herself until she's fairly certain she won't burst into tears the moment she lays eyes on him. When she's got her emotions under control, she pushes the door open and walks into the office.

Brett is at his desk and Dan is at the coffeemaker, but there's no sign of Raylan.

Brett glances up from his computer. "Oh. Hi, Winona. You lookin' for Raylan? He's over at the police station sitting in on an interview." He reads her face. "Something wrong?"

"No, I just..." she starts to fib, but then all her hard-fought self-control fails. She reaches for a tissue from Linda's desk and blows her nose, blotting at her eyes before the tears can streak her mascara.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Brett is all kind concern. He pulls a chair out. "Sit. He's been gone awhile, maybe he'll be back soon. You wanna tell me what's going on?"

She shakes her head and stays standing. It doesn't seem right to tell someone else about this before she tells Raylan. But, on the other hand she has to talk to someone. "Is Trina home?"

"I'm pretty sure she is. You want to call her? Go in Chuck's office. It's private."

Winona glances over, shakes her head.

"It's okay. His personal things are gone. Laurel came yesterday and picked everything up. Linda hasn't moved her stuff in yet. Go on, go call Trina."

With her cell phone downstairs in her purse, there's not much choice but to use the phone in the chief's office. She doesn't go behind the desk though. She sits in one of the visitor chairs and turns the phone around.

Trina is shocked and sympathetic and full of ideas about resumes and how to present herself to the law firms on the list Matt gave her. She doesn't balk when Winona tells her about the credit card bills. "Raylan might be mad that you didn't tell him before, but he'll get over it. If you have to get a smaller apartment, we'll help you move. It'll all be alright."

"I hope you're right."

"If you don't feel like going Friday, I'll understand."

"To hear Trevor's band? I'll probably need to get out. There's no use sitting around moping."

"Okay, but if you change your mind, that's fine, too."

Winona feels better when she hangs up the phone. She checks her watch. She needs to be in court in a half-hour, and Raylan's still not back. She asks Brett to have him call her when he gets in and takes the elevator down to her office.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Hank Reynolds insists on treating Raylan to lunch. The bar looks familiar, and Raylan realizes it's the same place Chuck brought him after the shooting. The one with the pictures on the wall, remembering those officers killed in the line of duty.

"Do you think they'd add Chuck's picture to the wall if we brought one in?" Raylan asks, once they're seated. "He brought me here once. I think he liked the place."

"I think that's a great idea. We'll say something to Jimmy on our way out."

"So what do you think your chances are of getting the search warrant?"

Hank purses his lips."Better than 50/50, but not by much. Depends on which judge we can get 'em to. I've got my guy looking for Judge Warner right now. He's our best shot."

The food arrives and Hank they talk baseball while they eat. After, Hank says something to the bartender about getting the Chief's picture up on the wall, and Jimmy agrees. "He was a great guy. I was real sorry to hear about what happened."

"Thanks," Raylan says. "I'll get a photo. Maybe some of the other Marshals will come back with me and you can hang it then."

"Sounds good."

"How'd the interview go? Linda asks when he walks back in the office.

"Parker Reeve is pretty slick. Uline didn't give us much, but he denied ever bein' there and was at a loss to explain the partial. Captain Reynolds is goin' for a search warrant and wants us in on it."

"He wants us, or you _asked_?"

"His idea." Raylan holds up his right hand. "Scouts honor."

Linda snorts a laugh. "If you were a Boy Scout I'm the Queen of England."

"Hey," Brett calls from his desk. "You talk to Winona yet? She was here earlier lookin' for you. Seemed upset. I think she called Trina. Said for you to call her."

"I haven't talked to her." He calls her cell, but it goes straight to voice mail. There's no answer on her office phone either. "She must be in court. I think I'll pop down and check though. Be right back."

Winona's office door is locked and he's about to head back upstairs when Matt Steen calls his name.

"Hey, Raylan. I hope you know how sorry I am. If there was any other way... These damn budget cuts. I hate it."

The confusion must show on his face. Matt turns red. "_Shit. _You haven't talked to Winona yet. God. Open mouth insert foot, that's me. This day can end anytime."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Matt suddenly appears very interested in his shoes or the design in the tile floor of the hallway. "I had to lay Winona off. I told her this morning."

"Lay her off?" No wonder she was upset.

"Yeah, the new budget is over a hundred thousand less than last year. I had to lay off Winona, fire one secretary outright, and put a bailiff down to part-time."

Raylan motions to the door. "Do you have a key for her office?"

"Sure. Want me to let you in?" Matt fishes his keys from his pocket and unlocks the door. "I think the judge just called recess in her trial. She should be down any minute."

"Thanks." Raylan pulls out her chair and sits down to wait.


	64. Chapter 64

Four people stop her on the way from the courtroom to her office. Judge Clarrett, who married them, hands her a business card. "This is my brother-in-law's firm. They do a lot of real-estate and mineral rights, that sort of thing. They have to keep meticulous records for the state, so I know they use reporters and transcribers quite a bit. I'll call him and put in a good word."

"Thank you," Winona manages. She's exhausted. All she wants is a glass of wine and a hot bath. And for Raylan not to be mad when she shows him the credit card bills. At least not _too _mad.

She's surprised to see her office door ajar. She isn't sure whether to laugh or cry when she sees Raylan sitting at the desk. "Hey," she says.

"Hey, yourself." His mouth curls upwards, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. He knows.

She can't hold back the tears. "I lost my job, Raylan."

"Matt told me. Come'ere." She walks over and leans back against the desk, hugging herself.

"I can't believe it! I work hard. I'm good at what I do. I am."

"I know." He stands and wraps his arms around her. "Matt said this has nothin' to do with _you. _It's all about the budget. You'll find something else."

"But I like it_ here_." She buries her face in his shoulder and sobs. "Being in the courtroom is exciting. And I like knowing you're right here in the same building and I can see you anytime I want."

"I'm not _always _here." He reminds her. "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier when you needed me."

She grabs a tissue a blows her nose. "Good lord, I must be a sight," she sighs. "And I got mascara all over your shirt."

"It'll wash."

"I'm sorry."

"About the shirt?" He teases.

"No. I just don't see why this had to happen _now." _

He kisses her forehead. "It's gonna be alright."

She shakes her head and pulls away, tugging out the top desk drawer. She takes out the envelopes and hands them to him.

He raises an eyebrow. "What's this? Credit card bills?"

She nods, chewing her bottom lip.

He fans the envelopes out. "How many do you have?"

"Three."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

She shrugs. "You didn't ask."

"And you didn't think owing money was something important to share with your _husband_?"

She crosses her arms back over her chest and stares past him, blinking away another round of tears.

He starts pulling the statements out, eyes widening as he reads the balance on each of them. "Six-hundred on this one, three-hundred-seventy-five,.." He looks up at her, mouth agape. "..._nine-hundred_-eighty?" He stares at the ceiling as he totals them up. "Winona, there's almost two _thousand_ dollars on all of these! What in the _hell _did you buy?"

""You don't need to yell at me!"

"Okay...I'm sorry, but this is a lot of money. What did you buy?"

She hugs herself harder. "I got furniture for the apartment. Some nice clothes for work. Shoes. Christmas presents." She swipes at her eyes with one hand and sniffles.

He looks from the bills in his hand back to her. "How could you spend this much money?"

"It's not like I spent it all at once. I said I bought _furniture,_ Raylan. Did you notice Katie didn't take much when she left? It's all mine. The couch, the chair, the television...the only thing I had when we moved in was my bed and dresser."

"Why did _you_ have to buy it all?"

She sighs. "Katie has a ton of loans from college and med school. She did the leg work finding the apartment and paid the security deposit."

"This is why I had a futon and a recliner from Goodwill." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "Okay, here's what we're gonna do. We've got that check your father sent us for a Christmas/wedding present..."

"Daddy said that's supposed to be towards a down payment when we find a house."

"Winona, we can't even begin to think about a house right now."

"But..."

"We're down to one income. We've got to be sensible."

"I am sensible."

"An hour ago I would've said so, but now," He shakes the papers at her. "I'm not so sure."

She leans forward, hands on her hips. "That's not fair! I had a good job when I spent that money. I never thought..."

"Yeah, that's just it, you didn't _think_." He's not yelling, but his jaw is tight and that vein in his neck is throbbing, so she knows he's really angry.

"What? Now I'm stupid?"

He shakes his head. "No, I didn't say that. You're not stupid. But you are a little impulsive sometimes, don'tcha think?"

"I wasn't having any trouble paying those bills on my own."

"Well, you can't pay 'em on your own now, can you?"

She stares at him for a long moment, then reaches past him to pick up her purse from the desk. "I'm going home."

He grabs her wrist. "I'm sorry. I shouldn'ta said that. I'm sorry," he repeats. "I love you. We're a team. We'll get through this together." She lets him pull her in, laying her head on his shoulder. She feels like crying again.

"Will we be able to keep the apartment?"

"That shouldn't be a problem." Releasing her, he sits back down at the desk and picks up a pen, scratching out some figures on the back of one of the envelopes. "We've got six months left on the lease on the apartment and it's silly to let that money your father gave us sit there while we pay interest on these credit cards. So we'll pay them off and we won't charge anything else. If..._when..._you find a new job, we can start putting the money back in savings."

"What if we need..."

"We're gonna have to work out a budget and stick to it. If we can't pay cash for it, we don't buy it."

She knows he's being perfectly logical. It sounds pretty bleak, but hopefully it's temporary. She's too tired to argue about it anyway. "Okay, if that's what you think we should do."

"It is." He looks up at her. "Anything else you haven't told me about because I didn't ask?" His voice is serious, but the twinkle is back in his eyes.

"Not that I can think of."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, Raylan."

"Good." He unfolds from the chair and stands in front of her. "Let's go home and have make-up sex."

"Make-up sex, huh?" She lets him help her on with her coat.

"It's the best kind."

She tilts her head back to look at him. "Really? You sure about that? 'Cause we've set the bar pretty high, Cowboy."

"Only one way to find out," he says.


	65. Chapter 65

Winona stretches lazily, running her thigh up the length of his, hooking her knee over his hip.

"Again?" He smirks at her. The light is fading from the windows and the bed is rumpled and warm from their first energetic romp.

"Only if you're _up_ for it."

"Oh ho...a challenge from the lady." He trails his fingers up her rib cage, lightly tickling.

She giggles.

He grabs her waist, hoisting her all the way on top. She shimmies down, fitting herself to him. He's more than ready. "See," he grins at her. "I told you make-up sex was the best."

"I'm not sure it's the _best. _Honeymoon sex was pretty good; but then, so was first-night-we-met-sex."

He kisses her, soft and slow as he moves inside her. "First-night-we-met-sex was nothing compared to this."

"Ummm hmmm, but it _was_ new and exciting."

"So, this is old, boring, married sex now?" He teases, moving his mouth to her breast.

She shivers and knits her fingers into his hair, holding him tightly. "Do I seem bored to you?" She murmurs.

"If this is bored, I'd hate to see you all worked up." He switches to the other breast, giving it equal attention.

"Maybe it just keeps getting better," she murmurs, shifting her hips to take him deeper.

"It gets much better than this and you're gonna kill me," he groans in response.

Smiling, she moves again, tightening around him, and he doesn't talk anymore.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"I know we aren't getting a house anytime soon, but when we do, I want a tub that's big enough for both of us." She sets the empty wine glass on the floor and sinks down farther into the bubbles.

"I'll make note of that." Raylan's leaning back against the wall beside the tub. He's got his jeans on, but he's barefoot and shirtless in the warm bathroom. There's a pizza box on his lap. "You want another slice? There's one left."

"Pizza and wine in the bathtub." She laughs. "Not exactly how I pictured my day ending. Way better than how it started, though."

"Don't forget the out-of-this-world make-up-sex." He grins and fishes the last slice out of the box, taking a bite. He offers it to her, but she shakes her head.

"I'm done." She sighs. "All of a sudden I'm just...exhausted."

He takes a swallow of beer from the bottle beside him and sets it back down carefully. "You've had quite a day." There's no response, and when he looks over, he sees the tears. He strokes her hair, damp from the steam rising off the water. "Hey, I told you, it's all gonna work out. You'll find something else. We've got the money to pay off those credit cards..."

She looks up at him. "How much money do we have?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"It's a simple question, Raylan. I don't have much savings, obviously, but you must...I know what you make, and I saw that apartment. You don't spend a lot of money on _things_. How much do you have squirreled away?"

He sets the pizza box on the floor and turns to face the tub. "Some, but not as much as you might think. I had a few school loans. The money Helen gave me was a good start but it didn't pay for everything. Those are paid off now, but..." He stares, focusing on the tile above her head.

"But what?"

"I got some money put aside for her if she ever needs it." He finishes the beer and puts the bottle and Winona's wine glass on top of the pizza box.

"For Helen?"

"Yeah."

"But you don't send it to her because..." Winona cocks her head, blue eyes questioning. Raylan is quiet. "Oh," she says. "You don't want Arlo to have it."

His jaw tightens as it always does at any mention of his father. "You got that right."

"It's for her if she ever decides to leave him."

Raylan nods.

"You ever think about telling her it's there? Asking if she wants it? It'd give her an out."

Raylan snorts a laugh. "You don't know my Aunt Helen. I even suggested that, she'd slap me upside the head...over the phone long distance."

Winona slides one foot out of the water, propping it on the edge of the tub. "She sounds like a pretty independent woman. Why'd she marry him?"

"Who knows?" He sighs, deep, and his eyes go dark.

"Have you ever asked her?"

He shakes his head. "Didn't talk to her for almost a year after I found out." The jaw is set hard again. "She's had plenty of time to explain and she's never even tried."

Winona's mouth curves up knowingly. "Raylan, would you have listened if she had?"

He shrugs. "Maybe. Who knows?"

"I suspect _she _does." Winona laughs. "From what you've said she practically raised you. I've known you for less than a year and I know you wouldn't have."

"You don't know Arlo," Raylan says, his voice low. "You don't know what it was like for me and my mother, _her_ sister. You don't know what it was like." He rises to his feet in one smooth motion, pulls his t-shirt on, grabs the remnants of dinner and heads for the kitchen. Winona hears the cupboard open and close and the clink of ice in a glass.

A few minutes later, dry and wrapped in her robe, she wanders out to find him sitting at the counter, bourbon in front of him. She rests her chin on his shoulder and slips her arms around his waist. "You're right. I don't know what it was like living with Arlo, but I hope maybe someday you'll want to tell me about it."

"Why would I do that?" He takes a sip of the bourbon. "It won't change anything."

There's a quote stuck in her brain, something about a burden shared being halved, but she can't quite remember it and it probably wouldn't make a difference. She kisses his neck softly. "It's been a long day. I'm going to bed. Come lie down with me?"

"You go on, I'll be there in a minute." He refills the glass as she walks away.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona runs the brush through her hair and watches as Raylan ties his tie behind her. "Good morning." She smiles at his reflection.

"Mornin'." He lifts her hair and kisses the back of her neck. She turns and tips her face up to his for another kiss. "You okay?"

She nods. "I just hate going in when everyone knows what's happened. They all looked at me yesterday like I've got a terminal disease."

"It's just two more days. Are you back in court today?"

Turning back to the mirror she tugs one eyelid down and swipes on the eyeliner. "Yeah, the trial from yesterday should finish up. What're you doing today?"

"Hopefully helping the police execute a search warrant at Reeve's compound."

A cloud of worry threatens, but she pushes it down and keeps her face neutral as she finishes applying her make-up. "Do you think that's where Haley and her mom and sister are?"

He shrugs. "I can't imagine they'd be stupid enough to keep them there, but who knows?" He follows her back into the bedroom, putting on his jacket and straightening the tie one more time. "We may not find anything at all."

"I hope you find them."

"Me, too. But they might be too afraid to leave with us. It's not like we did a very good job protectin' them the first time."

"You said yourself it must have been a surprise. Do you think someone was waiting for them when Chuck took them back?"

"Yeah, or followed 'em. Otherwise, how would they know where the safe-house was..." His eyes go gray and cold. "...unless..."

"Unless what, Raylan?"

"Unless someone told them. Maybe there's a leak somewhere."


	66. Chapter 66

"You really think someone talked? Why? Who knew where the house was?" Brett leans an elbow on the desk and stifles a yawn.

Raylan takes a sip of coffee and sets the mug down on Brett's desk so he can tick off the people who knew the location of the safe house on his fingers. "Chuck, you, me, Dan and Linda, the D.A. I'm not sure about who else in her office might have known."

"No one here would say anything. Trina doesn't even know where it was. Did you tell Winona?"

"No, of course not." He grabs the mug and takes another gulp, waving the half-empty mug in a circle as he continues. "If it came from anywhere, it had to be the D.A.'s office."

Brett is skeptical. "I still think it's more likely someone just followed them from the courthouse."

"You could be right, but I can't believe Chuck wouldn't notice a car following him all that way." Raylan loosens his tie and rubs the back of his neck. It's going to be a long day.

Brett sighs. "We all get careless sometimes. There was no sign of forced entry." He taps a finger on his desk to make the point. "There was no sign of a struggle inside the house." Another tap. "No fingerprints, save for the partial on the doorframe." Tap. Now he points the finger at Raylan. "Here's a thought...could they have been grabbed before they even got into the house? We've assumed that because the beds were mussed the girls had been sleeping, but what if they didn't make their beds that morning? You were there, did you notice?"

"No, I was never in the back by the bedrooms that morning. I hadn't thought of that. We were in a hurry to get here to do Haley's deposition. Maybe the beds just got left that way."

"Changes your perspective, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does. I wanna go back there, take a look around. Maybe there's something we missed." He grabs the hat from his desk and picks up his keys. "You comin'?"

"Sure. Think we should let Linda know where we're goin'?"

"She's still in that meeting. Let's just call her on the way." He slips his jacket on and sets the hat on his head.

"She won't like it. We're supposed to leave the investigation into Chuck's murder to SLPD."

Raylan hits the elevator button harder than necessary. "It's not just about Chuck...it's about Lena and the girls and that _is_ our investigation."

The doors slide open and Brett walks in first, punching the button for the parking garage. "I guess you're right. There's some wiggle room there. _I just hope it's enough wiggle room for Linda." _He adds under his breath.

o-o-O-o-o-

The crime scene tape is still up across the back door, ruffling in the wind. Plywood covers the window Raylan broke out to get to Chuck. Brett pulls one end of the tape away from the porch rail and slides the key into the lock. "What're you looking for?" He asks.

"If I knew that, I'da found it already." Raylan steps into the kitchen behind Brett, carefully avoiding the dark reddish stain on the cheap linoleum.

"The thing I can't figure is, if they got caught outside, then why was Chuck's body inside?" Brett turns and looks back out through the door. "Come're a minute," he says.

Raylan follows him back onto the porch. "What?"

Brett points to where Chuck's car had been sitting in the driveway the night of the murder. "Let's say you're Chuck. When you pull in the drive, what do you do?"

"Get out and do a check before we all go in," Raylan says. "Basic procedure."

"Right. So the girls and Lena are in the car. Doors locked. Waiting. They can't see the porch from there. Chuck comes back here to check the door, maybe he's tired, maybe he's not watching, maybe whoever it is just gets lucky, catches him off guard."

Raylan picks up the story. "Someone, maybe two...Chuck was a big guy...comes up behind him...holds a gun or knife to him, forces him inside and finishes it." He shakes his head. "At least in that scenario Haley and Taylor didn't see what happened to him."

"Small consolation."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Winona! Hey, hold up a minute."

She turns, files in hand, to see one of the attorneys from this afternoon's trial hurrying down the hallway toward her. She can't remember his name, but she isn't surprised he knows hers. Judge Acker has an annoying habit of calling court reporters and bailiffs by their first names during proceedings. She finds it unprofessional, but the man is over seventy so he isn't likely to change.

"Hey." The attorney, Brad something-or-other, she recalls now, catches up with her. "I heard about the lay-offs. Someone said you were looking for a job. I'm sure my firm could use you."

He hands her a card. _Handel, Martin, and Yarrow, Attorneys. Martin_. That's his name. Brad Martin. "Thanks, Brad." She gives him a smile.

"Would you want to come in on Monday for an interview with the other partners? I could arrange it."

While it's wonderful to have an offer, she hasn't really had time to think about what she wants to do. The trial they just finished had been a custody dispute and if family law is their primary focus, she isn't sure she wants to do that kind of work all the time. It could be pretty disheartening. She glances at the card again. There's a downtown address and a phone number printed at the bottom. "Can I call you?" She asks. "I want to talk it over with my husband."

He looks disappointed, but recovers quickly. "Sure. But I bet we can pay you at least what you're making here, maybe a little more, with benefits and vacation time."

"Thanks," she says. "I'll call and let you know."

"Great!" He beams at her and holds out his hand. She takes it and he covers her hand with his just as the elevator door opens and Raylan steps out.

"I hope to talk to you soon, Winona," Brad says, giving a squeeze before he lets go and slides past Raylan into the empty elevator.

Raylan watches as the door closes behind him. He turns to Winona. "What was that all about?"

She hands him the card. "He offered me a job."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Brad Martin, but I don't think he's the 'Martin' who's a partner. I'm betting that's a father or uncle. He's too young to be a partner."

Raylan looks at the card and then again at the door to the elevator. "I don't like him."

She laughs. "He is kind of smarmy. But then, most lawyers are."

"I don't like the way he was lookin' at you. He know you're married?"

She cocks her head and smirks at him. "He does now. I managed to work it into the conversation."

"Good." He huffs out a breath.

"You're jealous!" She giggles. "That's cute."

"Cute? One hand goes to his gun hip and he looks at her from under the hat. "You think I'm _cute_?"

"Uh huh." She steps in close and holds onto the lapel of his jacket with one hand, stretching up to give him a kiss. "I think you're real cute. Were you coming down to surprise me?"

"I was comin' down to ask you if you wanted to keep me company while I finished some paperwork, then we could grab a bite to eat. It shouldn't take too long."

"Keep you company, huh?" She grins. "Sure, Cowboy. Let me put these files in my office and grab my coat and purse."


	67. Chapter 67

"When I asked you to keep me company, this isn't quite what I had in mind." Raylan glances up from the report he's finishing at Winona, perched on his desk, one leg crossed over the other, swinging her foot so that it just brushes his leg on each upward arc.

"Oh." She widens her eyes in mock innocence. "Am I distracting you from your work?"

"Heh," he chuckles. "Just a little."

She takes the clip out of her hair and shakes it loose. "Well, we can't have that." She slides off the desk, bumping her hip into his arm as she walks past. In front of him now, she leans over, her palms flat on the desk, the low neck of her blouse giving him a clear view of her lacy bra.

"Still distracting," he mutters, deliberately not looking up.

Laughing, she moves away from Raylan's desk toward the long windows that line one wall of the Marshals' offices. "Sorry. I'll be good."

"I'm almost done here and then you can be as bad as you want. Where do you feel like goin' for dinner?"

"I don't care. What sounds good to you?"

"Let's go to _Isaac's_, sit down, have a nice dinner. How does that sound?" He slaps the file closed. "I need to check one more thing and then we can go." He picks up the phone. He dials Hank Reynolds' extension and waits. When there's no answer, he leaves a message for the Captain to call him. He walks over to the window where Winona stands looking out.

"It's really started snowin', hasn't it?"

She nods. "I caught the weather report on the way in this morning. They said there was a winter storm on the way."

"Well, then, let's go eat so we can get home. You can just leave your car here and ride in with me in the mornin'."

"We won't be able to do that anymore." She sighs. "Or meet for lunch, either."

"We'll work somethin' out. Some of those law offices on that list Matt gave you aren't far from here."

She leans back against him and he wraps his arms around her. "I dread making those calls trying to get interviews."

"I know you do," he says. " It's good practice, though. Even if it looks like they might leave us alone for now, we won't be here forever. If we move you'll have to look for somethin'. At least here you have connections."

"So you're not as worried about being transferred?"

"No use worrying about it. It'll happen or it won't." He shrugs and tightens his arms around her waist, one hand stroking upwards towards her breasts. She slaps it away playfully and tips her head back to smile up at him.

"Dinner first." She studies him from this angle, the strong line of his jaw; his cheekbones, the fine spidery lines barely beginning to fan out from his eyes. He's a handsome man, and sometimes she feels incredibly blessed that he's so completely, enthusiastically _hers._ Other times, it scares her to pieces.

"Whatcha thinkin'?" He asks, one corner of his mouth twisting into a grin, as if he knows _exactly _what she's thinking.

"If you could go anywhere, where would you go?"

"You mean to work?"

She nods, gazing back at the snow blanketing the world outside the window.

"I don't know, really...I like it here, but, California might be different, or Seattle."

"So west coast? Not New York or Boston?"

"There's a lot of mob activity there. That's a whole n'other kind of criminal. Not that it wouldn't be interestin'. But it's a different world. How 'bout you? If we had a choice, where would you want to go?"

"Trina made Chicago sound pretty cool."

"Brett says it's damn cold there in the winter with that wind whippin' off the lake. But he liked it, too." His stomach growls and she laughs, turning around to face him.

"Let's go eat." She stands on her tiptoes to kiss him.

-o-o-O-o-o-

After dinner, they slip and slide through the snow back to the courthouse parking lot, Winona's arm linked through his. She teeters unsteadily in her heels and he wraps an arm around her waist. Luckily there are only a few scattered vehicles left in the lot. The car, completely covered with a layer of snow and ice, would be impossible to find otherwise. He opens the door for Winona and grabs the scraper from under the driver's seat, turning the collar of his jacket up against the blowing snow.

"California," he says. "I'd choose California. It's warm there. None of this blizzard shit."

Winona laughs and turns up the heater.

-o-o-O-o-o-

The storm left eight inches of snow and unusually low temperatures in its wake. The frigid drive into work the next morning is nothing compared to the temperature that greets Raylan when he walks into the office. "There you are," Linda says. "Come join us. Please."

Raylan sees Dan and Brett already assembled in the conference room Linda has appropriated for an office, still not ready to move into Chuck's former space. Dan is leaning against the table, arms folded across his chest. He doesn't meet Raylan's eyes. Brett is slumped in one of the chairs positioned around the table. The other marshal looks at Raylan ruefully as he trails in behind Linda.

"Alright," Linda says. "Was I unclear when I told you that Chuck's murder was a matter for Salt Lake Homicide?"

There's silence, and Raylan realizes that her question is directed at him. He takes off the hat and lays it on the table. "No, but..."

"And did you or did you not go back to the scene yesterday and enter the house without asking my permission."

"We did, but..."

"Givens, you're off this case. Totally. I don't want you anywhere near..."

"Wait a minute..." He points a finger at Linda, other hand on his hip. "Just listen to..."

"No! _You_ listen to _me_. You're on prisoner transport until further notice. Dan's taking over this. He'll go as our representative if the police get their warrant...that's _if_ they even want us along after the shit you pulled."

Raylan hangs his head, rubbing his temple with one thumb.

"Let's be fair," Dan speaks up. He still hasn't moved from his position leaning against the table. "The two cases _do _overlap. I don't think Raylan and Brett were intentionally stepping on anyone's toes. Did the SLCPD complain?"

Linda fixes Dan with an icier stare than the one Raylan got. "No, they weren't complaining, just following up on a call from a neighbor. They wanted to make sure it was us and not someone else going into the house." Linda fixes her gaze on Raylan again. "I couldn't answer them because I was uninformed. I _hate _being uninformed."

"Sorry to interrupt," Marjorie, one of the two secretaries tentatively sticks her head in. "There's a call for Marshal Givens? A Captain Reynolds? He says it's important."

Raylan raises an eyebrow.

Linda huffs a breath. "Oh, hell, Mr. Popularity. Take the damn call."


	68. Chapter 68

Raylan thanks Hank for the call and hangs up the phone. "They got the warrants for Reeve's place. They're goin' in tonight." He looks at Linda, aiming for contrite. "Haley was _my_..."

She shakes her head. "Haley and her mother and sister were _our _responsibility. I know how you feel about it, Raylan, and I'm sorry, but actions have consequences. You and Brett are benched."

Raylan tries one more time. "Aw, come on, Linda, you heard Dan. The two cases are practically indistinguishable."

She looks him in the eye and he sees disappointment, rather than the anger he expects. She shoots the same look at Brett. "You know, I might have given you the okay to go out there and check things out if either of you'd trusted me enough to tell me your reasons. I'm not the enemy here, any more than Chuck was." She picks up the file from the table and brushes past him on her way out the door.

_Well, shit. _Now he's not only benched, but he feels like a jerk.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Matt is waiting for Winona outside her office when she comes in. "I signed those papers to transfer the insurance." She tells him. "I'll take them down to human services right now."

"That's not why I'm here," he says. "And depending on how you answer my next question, you might be able to tear those papers up."

"What's going on?" She chews her bottom lip nervously waiting for his answer.

"Melanie fell on the ice in her driveway this morning and broke her wrist. It's a bad break and it's looking like she may need surgery. She'll be out six to eight weeks, at least." He goes on in a rush. "She was assigned to that big embezzlement case starting next Tuesday. You may already have something lined up, or you might not want to do us any favors, but I could really use your help."

"You mean..." Relief rushes through her and she can't stop the grin from spreading over her face. "I can stay?"

"For awhile, anyway, yeah. And maybe by then there'll be some leeway in this idiotic budget and we can keep you on. I'm gonna do everything I can."

"Thank you!"

Matt sighs in relief. "I take that as a 'yes'?"

She nods and practically bounces into her office. She's sorry for Melanie's misfortune, but she can't help feeling giddy with relief that her job search is postponed and she gets to keep the job she loves. She looks at the boxes she brought in yesterday, prepared to pack her things, and gives the bottom one a light kick with the pointy toe of her shoe. "I don't need these today after all!" She can't wait to tell Raylan. She sits at her desk and picks up the phone, dialing his extension.

From the tone of his voice when he answers she can tell that he's in a mood. Something must've happened because he was fine on the way in. At least one of them is having a good day. She decides that her news should be told in person. "Do you have a minute?"

"The way it looks, I've got the whole damn morning to sit here doin' paperwork." He sighs.

Sounds to her like he might want an excuse to get out of the office. "Can you come down?"

"Be there in a few minutes."

He must take the stairs because there's a rap at her door less than five minutes later, and the elevator takes that long just to get to the top.

"Come in."

"You need a box carried down to the car?" He glances around the office, half scowling. "I thought you'd be packin' up. Don't wait till the end of the day, unless you don't wanna go out with Trina and Brett tonight."

"I want to go out," she says. "I've been looking forward to hearing Trevor's band." Standing, she cozies up to him and plants a kiss on his mouth. "Besides, we need to celebrate."

"Did you get a job? Already? Not with that Brad guy from yesterday I hope, I toldja I didn't like..."

"Raylan," she breaks in on his rant. "I didn't get a new job."

"Then what exactly are we celebratin'?"

"I get to keep this one; for awhile, anyway." She grins at him.

"How? What happened?" One hand is on her waist and he takes a step back to watch her face.

She tells him about Melanie and what Matt said. "So, I feel terrible about Melanie, but...I get to stay awhile longer." His face is still pensive. "I thought you'd be happy."

"I am. I _am, _really_._" He manages a smile, but there's no glint in his eye.

"You having a bad day?" She steps in closer and slides her fingers along the buttons of his shirt, pausing at his belt. "I bet I can make it better real fast." She backs him up against the door and reaches past him to lock it.

"'Nona," he cautions, but her fingers are already deftly unbuckling the belt.

"Maybe you should sit down for this," she suggests, turning him around in the tiny office and giving him a shove. He sits, bracing his feet so the chair doesn't roll across the floor into the wall. Her hair is down, but she gives it a quick twist and sticks a pencil in to hold it together. He watches her, eyebrow raised.

"You puttin' your hair up _now_?"

"It would only get in the way," she says. She grins at him and drops to her knees.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"There now, don't you feel better?" She murmurs, after. She's curled on his lap in the chair, her arms around his neck, his around her waist. His feet are propped up on her desk.

"Yeah," he laughs. "I feel better." He kisses her. "I feel fantastic. Thank you. I promise I'll make _you_ feel just as good later." He winks.

"I know you will." She kisses him back. "You want to tell me what happened to put you in such a mood?"

"Nothing to tell really." He shrugs. "It's just work. Linda's differ'nt than Chuck and I gotta get used to it, that's all." He puts his feet down and eases her off his lap. "And...I'd better get back up there. You have court today?"

"No, there was nothing on my schedule, and the deposition Melanie was assigned to got postponed because of the weather."

"Well, I got some paperwork to finish this morning and a prisoner transfer with Brett this afternoon. But I'll be back in plenty of time to take you home if you want to change before we meet them at the bar."

"Okay." She says. She walks him to the door and unlocks it, as she twists the doorknob he covers her hand with his, and bends to give her a lingering kiss, sliding a hand up to cup her breast. "I meant it about later."

"I'm holding you to that, Cowboy."


	69. Chapter 69

_"_You ready?" Brett stands by Raylan's desk pulling on his gloves. "With this snow, it's going to take awhile to get this guy back where he belongs."

"What's the story on him, anyway?" Raylan asks. He takes his coat from the hook, shrugging into it, and grabs the hat off the top of the file cabinet.

Brett opens the file. "Bobby 'Mad Dog' Jarrett," he reads. "Forty-six, doing ten to fifteen for robbery and assault. Robbed a liquor store and hit the clerk upside the head with one of the five bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 he stole on his way out. Hence the nickname."

"He robbed a liquor store and all he took was MD 20/20?"

"That and four-hundred-seventy-two dollars from the register. Then he went next door to the butcher shop and bought himself two filets."

"Just two? At least he has good taste in meat."

"Well, he never got to eat it. They caught him two blocks from his house with the Mad Dog and the money still on him."

Raylan shakes his head as they get into the elevator. "How do people that stupid live to be forty-six?"

The fat deputy on desk duty at the sheriff's office gives them a bored look and disappears down a long hallway. He comes back, moments later, empty handed. "Be just a minute. He's usin' the facilities. Guard'll bring 'em out. Might be awhile...number two." He heaves himself down into his chair and turns back to his computer. Blackjack, Raylan notes.

Brett leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Raylan sits on the bench, stretches his legs out in front of him, and slides the hat down over his eyes.

Brett chuckles. "You gonna take a nap?"

Raylan yawns. "Maybe. 'Nona's got her heart set on goin' to your brother-in-law's show tonight."

"Doesn't start until nine, but Trevor says to come about eight or so and have some drinks with the band. We're planning on taking a cab home. Trina's folks have the kids."

It's almost a half-hour before another deputy brings Bobby Jarrett from the holding cell. Jarrett's bent over, holding his stomach and groaning. "I'm really sick, I swear. I'm gonna puke."

"Have fun, boys," the deputy says as Raylan signs the transfer papers.

"Any chance he's really sick?" Brett worries.

"He's all yours now so it's not my problem if he is. He ate his lunch alright an hour or so ago and he just made use of the bathroom."

Jarrett looks pleadingly at Raylan. "I told 'em I was a lactose intolerant celiac and what'd they feed me? Macaroni and cheese. Ohhhhhh." He groans. My gut."

"No one forced you to eat it." The deputy snaps. "He's been babbling about bein' sick since he got here." He rolls his eyes.

"Who spotted him?" Brett asks.

"This guy didn't have bad luck he'd have no luck at all." The man laughs. "Sheriff's sister saw him hitching a ride off Rt. 2. Picked him up, took him to her house. Took him right into the bedroom. Probably thought he was gonna get some...she's a looker...but she locked him in there and called us." He hoots. "I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it for myself.

"Come on then, Lucky," Raylan says.

They load the prisoner into the back, moaning and complaining, and Raylan takes the wheel. It's started snowing again, and the tires spin as he makes the turn out onto the road. They aren't five miles down the road, with another sixty or so to go, when a horrid stench emanates from the back seat.

"Jesus Christ on a camel, what'd you do, shit yourself?" Brett swings his head around to look at Jarrett. Raylan holds his breath and lowers the driver's side window a crack, despite the cold air and snow that rushes in.

Mad Dog whines in misery. "You gotta stop. Please? I gotta use the bathroom again. I'm tellin' ya, I'm sick."

Brett glances at Raylan. "Your call."

Another wave of fetid air wafts up from the back seat. "Aww, hell. I'll look for someplace. Just hold on."

"I'm trying!"

He spots a convenience store ahead through the haze of snow and pulls in. A crudely hand-lettered cardboard sign posted in the glass beside the door reads _No Public Restrooms. NO exceptions._

Brett pulls out his badge as Raylan unloads Jarrett from the backseat.

When Raylan comes in, Brett is trying to get his message across to the obviously non-English speaking clerk. "No. No. No use bat-rooms. No."

"E-mer-gen-cy." Brett slows his speech down. He points to his badge. "U.S. Marshal, U.S. Government."

The clerk shakes his head vehemently. "No. No. No. No use bat-room." He points. "You not see sign? No use bat-rooms."

"PO-lice," Brett says, pointing again to the badge. The clerk just crosses his arms over his chest and continues shaking his head.

Jarrett clutches his belly and Raylan tries a different tact. "INS," he says.

The man pales.

"Bathroom?" He glares at him from under the hat.

The clerk points one long finger to the back.

"Thank you," Raylan nods. He walks Jarrett to the back, opens the door and peeks in. It's filthy. No wonder they don't let anyone use the bathroom. He'd sooner piss out back by the garbage cans. He turns back to the prisoner. "All clear. Be quick, okay?"

Mad Dog holds out his hands in the cuffs. "Kinda hard to wipe my ass trussed up like this."

"They say necessity is the mother of invention."

Back on the road twenty minutes later, the snow continues falling fast. "This wasn't in the forecast, was it?" Raylan's hands tighten on the wheel. The windshield wipers can barely keep up with the heavy wet flakes.

Brett looks out the window. "Nope."

Traffic is thin, luckily, and moving at fairly good speed despite the conditions. They should still have no trouble making it to Gunnison and back by five or so. Jarrett is dozing in the back and Raylan allows himself a sigh of relief that the drama appears to be over.

They're coming up on the exit to the state prison when taillights flash right in front of them and Raylan turns the wheel hard to avoid slamming into the back of the other car. The tires spin, searching unsuccessfully for any traction on the slick road. He eases up on the brake, but the back tires slip off onto the berm and stick, spinning with a sickening grinding sound.

"Shit! We're stuck." He shifts into park, turns on the flashers, and throws open the door. The snow is coming down fast and the wind has picked up.

He glances behind him and looks at Brett. "You're gonna have to get out and give us a push."

"Oh, hell." Brett pulls the collar of his jacket up and puts his gloves back on. Raylan watches as he positions himself behind the car. "You ready?" Brett calls.

"Yeah." Raylan eases back into drive and pushes slightly on the gas. "Push!" He yells to Brett. It takes three more times, but the tires finally burst free and find traction. Brett opens the door and slides back in, scattering snow across the seat.

"Damn it's cold out there!" He shivers and turns the heat up.

There've been some odd noises from the back, but Raylan's been too preoccupied to pay attention. Now he turns his head and looks behind him. "You okay back there?"

"I think I'm gonna puke."

"Don't you fuckin' dare." Brett says.

Jarret lurches upward toward the front seat, making a retching sound, but Brett pushes him back hard so that most of the vomit hits the back of the seat rather than splattering all over them. "I told you I was sick," the man moans.

"Oh, God." Raylan says. "Could this day get any damn worse?"

Brett glances over at him. "I think there's puke on your hat."


	70. Chapter 70

The bar is loud and smokey. Trevor's left them to join the band, busy setting up. Their tiny table is crowded with empty beer bottles, glasses, and the remnants of the pizza and wings they had for dinner. Raylan waves to the waiter for another round.

"I can't believe he really threw up in the car." Winona says, wrinkling her nose.

"How in the world did you stand it on the way back?" Trina scoots back on her stool green eyes wide.

"A couple guys at Gunnison were kind enough to hose down the back seat for us before we left." Brett says. "But Raylan had to clean his own hat." He chuckles.

Winona watches Raylan's face. She can't tell exactly what's going on behind those dark eyes, but he doesn't seem amused. He takes a long draw from his bottle of beer. She reaches for the hat, turning it over in her hands. "It looks fine to me." She sniffs. "I can't smell anything, either."

"Yeah, well, the car still stinks."

"Linda said she'd have it cleaned for you." One side of Brett's mouth turns up.

"Oh, yeah," Raylan says. "I remember now. That was _after_ she finally stopped laughin'."

Brett grins. "She did practically wet her pants. Maybe she'll figure we've done our penance."

"Maybe." Raylan looks doubtful. He glances at his watch. "What time did Dan say..."

Winona interrupts. "No work tonight, remember? You promised."

Brett glances at Winona and back to his friend, shaking his head ruefully. "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

"I'm tryin'." He gives Winona a smile and presses his leg against hers. She returns the pressure, laying a hand on his thigh.

"So," Trina raises her glass. "To Winona remaining gainfully employed."

"Here, here." Brett clinks his glass.

Raylan adds his bottle to the mix. "At least one good thing happened today."

Winona raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Only one?"

"Okay, two."

"What else..." Trina starts, but Brett shoots her a look and she stops mid-sentence. "Never mind."

Winona laughs. "Let's just say he owes me and leave it at that."

-o-o-O-o-o-

After several sound checks Trevor's band launches into their first set. They play a mix of rock and blues, with a tinge of country thrown in here and there. Most of the songs in this set are covers, everything from the Stones _Miss You _to Johnny Cash's _Ain't No Grave. _

After ending a lively version of Stevie Ray Vaughn's _Pride and Joy _that features Trevor's guitar playing, he comes to the front of the stage. "I'd like to invite a special guest to join us." He murmurs into the mic. "After this one we're gonna take a short break." He motions at their table. To Raylan's surprise, Trina rises from her stool and makes her way up to join her brother. Brett whistles and Trevor claps. "Ladies and gentlemen, my sister, Trina."

Winona's mouth hangs open.

"You didn't know?" Raylan whispers.

She shakes her head. "I had no idea."

The chords the band has been playing soft and low become louder. Trina leans into the same mic Trevor is using, her voice low and husky. _"I am an old woman, named after my mother..."_ It's not a professional voice, by any stretch, but it's strong and sure and suits the song. Trevor's clear baritone joins her in the chorus. "_Make me an angel...that flies from Montgomery, make me a poster of an old rodeo. Just give me one thing that I can hold onto...to believe in this livin' is such a hard way to go."_

Brett swallows the last of his beer and elbows Raylan. "That's my wife," he says, proudly.

"Trina never told me she could sing!" Winona says. The crowd applauds as the song ends. Trevor kisses Trina's cheek and she weaves her way back through the crowd to the table. "That was a surprise," Winona says, resting her chin in the cup of her hand and looking across the table at her friend. "You've been holding out on me."

Trina shrugs. "Trevor and I used to sing as a duo a long, long time ago, back in Chicago. We did the whole 'coffee house' thing, but he was so much better than me...he moved on to work with more talented musicians. He just asked me yesterday if I'd do something with him, and that was the only song I remembered all the words to."

"Well, it was lovely." Raylan raises his bottle. "To unexpected talents."

-o-o-O-o-o-

The evening is winding down. Raylan and Brett have graduated from beer to whiskey, and Raylan sips his slowly, watching Winona watch Brett and Trina sway together on the dance floor. He reaches out and strokes her cheek with a finger. "You wanna dance?"

She cocks her head, her mouth twisting into a grin. "You don't dance."

"I'm pretty sure I could manage _that._" He shrugs a shoulder at their friends, leaning on each other moving in a slow circle. "Com'on. I owe you, remember?"

Her eyes light up and he takes her hand, tugging her off the stool. They wedge into a spot near Trina and Brett, and the other man gives him thumbs up behind his wife's back. Winona fits her head against his shoulder and he settles his hands at the small of her back, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of her. Her breath is warm on his neck. She's so close he can feel the brush of eyelashes against his skin. The music is slow and hypnotic, a bluesy riff that sounds familiar, with a bass line that makes it easy for even him to find a rhythm to move his feet to. He's proud of himself for managing to avoid stepping on Winona's as well.

She tips her head back and looks up at him. "Not bad, Cowboy."

He leans in and gives her a quick kiss, one hand sliding down to squeeze her ass through the tight jeans she's wearing. She giggles.

"Hey, none of that _PDA," _Brett mutters, maneuvering around them.

"Why not?" Trina says, planting a kiss on his mouth and grabbing his butt with both hands.

"Aw hell." Brett sighs. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." They're still kissing when the music stops.


	71. Chapter 71

Raylan tosses the hat onto Winona's lap and slides into the cab beside her. She scoots up to look past him and waves out the open door to Brett and Trina, standing on the sidewalk outside the bar waiting for another cab. "Bye! We had fun."

"Talk to you tomorrow," Trina calls back. Raylan pulls the door shut and lays his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. Winona lays her head against his shoulder, yawning.

"Where you all goin' to?" The driver asks after a moment, startling them both.

"Aw, hell, sorry." Raylan recites the address and flops back against the seat, one arm across her lap. His fingers seek out hers, twining them together.

"Love you," he says, sleepily.

"You're drunk."

"So're you." He grins at her "Do I get points for dancin'?"

She giggles. "Yes, you get points."

"A lotta points?"

"Quite a few. But you still owe me, Cowboy."

"That's just fine, because when we get home..." he casts a furtive glance at the cabbie in the rear view mirror and leans in, turning his head to whisper in her ear in explicit detail _exactly_ what he's going to do when they get home.

"Ummmm," she murmurs.

"And then I'm gonna..." He whispers again, his lips purposefully brushing her ear.

"Promises, promises," she laughs.

"You suggestin' I can't follow through?"

"You had an awful lot to drink."

"Alcohol doesn't affect my performance." He scoffs. "In fact, I seem to remember you sayin' somethin' recently about gettin' me drunk more often."

"That night may have been an anomaly."

"Oh you think so, do you?"

"I guess we'll find out."

"Yes, we will. We most definitely will."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona weaves unsteadily on the sidewalk in front of the apartment as Raylan pays the cab driver. She wraps his jacket tighter around her against the biting wind and watches the ripple of muscles in his back as he reaches into the back seat for the hat. He turns and smiles that open boyish grin, and she falls in love with him all over again.

He's drunk; as drunk as she's ever seen him, save for the time she had to go pick him up in that awful bar. Then she'd been too mad to let him whisper things in her ear the way he did in the back of the cab on the way here. But she's not mad now. She's tingling with anticipation and he's happy. The frustrations of the day, whatever they may have been aside from the sick prisoner, have been forgotten, for now, anyway.

He swings an arm around her, loose and relaxed. "You have fun tonight?"

"Yes."

"Happy?"

"Yes." She tips her head up for a kiss as he fishes in his pocket for the keys.

"Here," she says, her mouth finding his. "Let me." She slides a hand in, taking her time feeling around for the key-ring. "Ah, here they are." She dangles them in front of him.

"Find anything else in there?" He twists the key in the lock and pushes the door open with his shoulder.

"Maybe." She teases.

"Maybe? Maybe?" Inside the apartment he scoops her up, weaving slightly as he carries her down the hall toward the bedroom. He bangs a shoulder against the wall. "Oops. Ow."

"Be careful, Raylan," she giggles.

He tosses her on the bed, hovering above her. Bracing himself on one knee, he pulls his shirt off over his head. Bending low, he plants a kiss on her neck. "You're overdressed." He notes.

"Well we can't have that, can we?" She gives him a shove and he flops over onto his back. Straddling him, she unbuttons her blouse slowly, pausing to tug it open a bit more as she inches down.

"Let me help." He reaches up and unsnaps the front hook on her bra, releasing her breasts. He cups one in each hand, stroking the nipples with his thumbs. Guiding one to his mouth he teases with his tongue. "Still overdressed."

"In that case, so are you." She pulls away, stands, kicks her shoes off, and shimmies out of her jeans and panties. Tugging one of his boots off, she drops it to the floor with a clunk. He sits up and pulls off the other one, but as he's sliding his jeans off his hips, the cell phone buzzes from his pocket.

"Noooo." Winona moans, pulling the pillow over her face. "Not work. Not now."

He glances at the screen. "It's Rachel's foster mother. I'm sorry, 'Nona, but I gotta take this."

He clicks it on. "Hello?"


	72. Chapter 72

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona stares daggers at him as Mrs. Lambert babbles on the other end of the phone. The usually levelheaded woman is almost hysterical. He holds up a finger to Winona, and wanders out into the kitchen. "Calm down. Take a breath, calm down and tell me what happened. Is Rachel okay?"

He hears a long intake of breath, then her voice comes back, still agitated, but steadier. "Rachel's fine. She's right here." Her voice rises in pitch. "I shot someone. A man. I called 911 but they aren't here yet. I can't reach Bill so I called you." She takes another deep breath, and he feels her waiting anxiously for his response. He's about to tell her he'll be right there when he remembers he doesn't have a car. His is being fumigated, hopefully, although he'd rather they just replace the entire backseat; and Winona's is back in the parking lot at the bar. Besides which, he'd still probably fail a breathalyzer, even though he's been jarred out of drunkenness by the phone call.

"The man you shot, was he breakin' in?"

"Uh huh. I was asleep and I heard a noise in the bathroom next to Rachel's room so I got Bill's gun from the closet safe and went to see. He was backing in through the window and when he turned around I saw the knife and I shot him. I should have warned him first...I know...but I couldn't make any words come out."

Scared speechless, Raylan thinks. Anyone would be, considering. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know. I don't know," she wails. Another wail joins in the background, likely the little girl he'd seen playing on the floor the last time her was there. The one who spooked so easily. She must be terrified. He hears hushing noises. No doubt, Rachel, trying to soothe the child.

"Is he movin'? Makin' noises?"

"He jerked a little at first. And he was making noise but now he's not."

Winona wanders out, wearing his shirt and nothing else. He holds up a finger again. '_Just a minute,' _he whispers.

"Can you go check?"

"I don't want to go back in there," she says, her voice soft.

"I'll stay right here on the phone with you. Do you hear sirens yet?" He can't imagine the locals aren't on their way.

"Okay, okay...I'm going to check." There's a long silence. "I think he's breathing, but I'm not sure. I hear sirens now."

"Good. Just tell the police everything you told me. It's gonna be fine."

"Okay."

"Wait, wait. Let me talk to one of the officers. Whoever looks to be in charge."

"Just a minute," the foster mother says.

Winona gets a glass of water from the sink and sits on one of the stools. She sighs, and cups her chin in her hand, making no move to close the shirt when it gaps open. He feels her eyes on him as he paces back and forth in the narrow kitchen waiting for someone to come on the line. On his third trip by her, she holds out the glass of water. He takes it gratefully and swallows the rest down, squeezing her shoulder.

He hears the phone being transferred. "Who's this?" The voice on the other end is female and young.

"This is Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens. And who am I speaking to?"

"Lt. Harris. Sheila Harris."

"Lieutenant, the teenage girl in that house, Rachel Fowler, is under the protection of the Marshal service. I believe the man breakin' in was going to kidnap her or harm her in some way."

"You coming to get her?"

"Me or someone else, yes. I have to make some calls. Could you check on the identity of the intruder for me? It'd be helpful."

"Aaron!" Her yell is muffled; probably by her hand over the phone. "Got any I.D. on the vic?"

The response is muffled as well; then Sheila Harris comes back on the line. "Driver's license says his name is Kirk Uline. Name mean anything to you?"

"It surely does. Is he alive?"

"Barely. She's a good shot. Hit him right in the chest. The paramedics are working on him now. The shooting was perfectly justified from the story she tells. Add to that what you've told me about the girl and I doubt there'll be any charges. Evidence supports what she's sayin' so far."

"I'm gonna call my boss. Someone will be there to collect Rachel. Can you watch her until we get there?"

"She and the little girl are in the cruiser with my partner right now."

"Thank you."

"No problem, Marshal."

He clicks the phone closed and looks at Winona. "Someone went after Rachel. Mrs. Lambert shot him."

"Rachel's alright?"

"Yeah, she's fine."

"What are you going to do?"

"Call Linda...I've got no car...I don't want to bother Brett."

"No." Winona shakes her head. "At least let _someone_ enjoy the rest of the evening."

He hangs his head. "Let me make this call and..."

"You're in no mood now. You'd be thinking about that poor girl the whole time. It's been a long day. You make your phone call. I'm going to sleep."

"'Nona..."

"It's okay, Cowboy." She stretches up and gives him a kiss. "Just don't make a habit of it."

He puts his arms around her, stroking her hair. "Tomorrow night. I'll turn the phone off."

She smiles up at him and some of the sparkle is back in her eyes. "It's a date."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"So if this is the same guy you think got the jump on Chuck; how did he end up getting caught coming in a window and shot point blank by a woman who hadn't picked up a gun in over a year?" Linda asks as she pulls her Explorer out of the apartment lot. Raylan's surprised she's agreed to him going along, but he isn't looking a gift horse in the mouth.

"Maybe he had help the last time."

"And not this time? Why?"

"Everyone else mighta been busy. They executed the search warrant tonight, didn't they?"

Linda nods.

"Have you heard from Dan?"

"He called last night around ten. They didn't find anything at the compound. No sign of Lena or either of the girls, no weapons, save for some registered guns and ordinary kitchen knives. They confiscated the knives as evidence, but Hank Reynolds doesn't think any of them will turn out to be the one that killed Chuck."

"Hopefully, Uline was stupid enough to take that one to the Lambert place. Janis Lambert said he had a knife. The police have it now."

"Then this guy will take the fall for all of it. Chuck's death, and the kidnapping and/or murder of a woman and two children."

"Maybe that's the plan." Raylan stares out the window. The sky is just beginning to lighten from gray into deep streaks of purple and orange. He stifles a yawn. He hasn't slept at all and probably won't for awhile, depending how it all shakes out at the Lambert's.

"You think Reeve is setting him up?"

"Yeah, I do," Raylan says.

"Well, you've had pretty good instincts so far, despite the way you've gone about it." Her eyes slide towards him and a half-smile crosses her face. "I'm inclined to let you question him. Maybe if he realizes they're hanging him out to dry he'll cooperate...give us something."

"If he lives."

"There is that." She nods. "Hopefully, he will. Mrs. Larcomb shouldn't have to deal with that."

"No, she's a nice lady. Cares about Rachel." He pauses. "You gonna move her?"

"I suppose we'll have to, won't we?"

"Maybe not." Raylan turns in the seat to face his boss. "If Reeve wants us to think Kirk Uline is behind this whole thing...Rachel's safe. He won't go after her now."

Linda cocks her head thoughtfully as she makes the turn onto the Lambert's street. "You may be right. But do we want to take that risk?"


	73. Chapter 73

Linda drops him off and Raylan lets himself into the apartment. It's after eleven, but there's no sign that Winona's been up. Not that surprising since it was close to four in the morning when he left. He sets the hat and gun on the counter, and walks quietly to the bedroom. She's curled on her side, facing him, one arm splayed out over his pillow. She stirs when he sits on the bed, pulling off his boots. He stands and undresses, leaving the boxers on when he slides under the covers. Her eyes flutter open and she murmurs a sleepy hello. He pulls her closer, relishing her warmth after a cold morning spent standing around outside the Lambert's house in the wind. He strokes her hair and she lays a hand on his chest, sighing. The events of the morning are a whirlwind in his head, but total exhaustion wins out and he's asleep in minutes

-o-o-O-o-o-

When he wakes there's light streaming through the window and Winona is gone. Stretching, he rises, pulls on his jeans and wanders out to the kitchen. The clock on the stove says it's close to three in the afternoon. He checks his phone. No calls. Winona is in the tiny laundry room, transferring a jumble of clothes from the washer to the dryer.

"There's still some coffee," she calls over her shoulder.

He pours himself a cup and goes into the living room, flopping onto the couch. Winona wanders in a moment later carrying a basket full of things to fold.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It was my turn to do that."

"That's okay. I don't mind laundry. It's kind of soothing. Everything's all clean and warm and smells good." She sets the basket on the floor and takes a seat beside him on the couch, pulling a towel out of the basket, folding it, and stacking it on the end table.

He sips his coffee, quiet.

She grabs another towel, repeating the motion and stacking it with the other. "How'd things go last night? Did you take Rachel somewhere safe?"

She's curious, he knows, but he also hears apprehension in her tone. "We decided that she's probably as safe as she can be right where she is. The sheriff's agreed to put Bill Larcomb on special assignment. He's gonna work from home and keep an eye on things."

Winona visibly relaxes. "So, you don't have to do WITSEC?"

_So that's it. _"No, Rachel's bein' looked after. I might have to run to the hospital later, question the guy Janis Lambert shot; if he makes it through surgery."

"Good. I don't want you to have to do that again right now. I'd be worried sick after what happened to Chuck."

"I know you would. But there's no reason. Like I toldja before, most of the time it's pretty boring." From the look on her face, she's not convinced. "Hey," he says. When she looks up, he kisses her. The towel she's folding falls from her lap onto the floor as her arms go around his neck.

"I seem to remember bein' interrupted last night."

"This morning." She corrects, her tongue darting in.

"Details." He scoops her up, and this time manages to get all the way into the bedroom without bumping into anything. He eases down onto the bed, undoing the buttons on her shirt, pleased to find she isn't wearing a bra. "I think I was right about here..." he lowers his mouth, feeling her nipple harden under his tongue.

"Um hmmm." Her fingers deftly work his zipper and reach in to draw him out.

"Nope." He pushes her hand away. "You first, " he murmurs, sliding his hand into the waistband of her jeans and under the thin elastic band of her panties. His fingers find her and she arches up, ready for him. His tongue circles her breast flicking and sucking gently on the soft skin. He can feel her heart pounding, her breath coming in short gasps. He withdraws his hand, fumbling with her button and zipper.

She grabs his wrist and does it herself, wriggling out of her clothes and putting his hand back where she wants it. He kisses his way up to her mouth. "Gettin' awfully anxious, aren't you?" He teases.

"Yes." She pushes herself harder against his fingers. "Don't stop."

"I got somethin' better for you." He kisses her quick on the mouth and slides down, replacing his fingers with his tongue. She groans, grabbing a handful of hair and urging him on. She comes in a hot rush, trembling and he slides up and in, feeling her contract around him. She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper, moving in tandem with him until he collapses on top of her, completely spent.

"You just earned all your points back, Cowboy," she breathes. "And then some."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona is half-dozing when his cell phone buzzes from the kitchen. "That might be Linda. She was going to check on Uline."

She kisses him. "Go answer your phone."

"I'll be right back."

"Round two?" She raises an eyebrow.

"You never know." He grins down at her as he pulls on his jeans.

"Well, he's lucky, from what they can tell me," Linda says when he answers the phone. "He made it through surgery. They think they repaired all the damage. He's in intensive care with a 24 guard. You can talk to him in a day or two, _maybe; _unless he lawyers up by then."

"Any more word from Dan?"

"No. He did say something Reynolds mentioned. He wants to get an additional warrant for the warehouse."

"The one Brett and I were at? Where we found the license plate?"

"Yeah, that one. Dan has a hunch that may be where they took the girls, and maybe where they're hiding Lena and the kids."

"Keepin' 'em prisoner, you mean."

There's a long piece of silence on the other end of the phone. "I'm letting you question Uline, but other than that you are still off this case. You and Brett both. You're welcome to discuss your theories with Dan, but that's it." Another pause, and Raylan knows she's waiting for a response.

"So whatever I get from Uline..."

"You need to report to Dan and let him follow up on it. Do you understand what I'm saying, Raylan?"

He leans hard on the counter, his palm flat, fighting the urge to hit something. "So I do the work and he..."

"Do you want to question Uline or not? Maybe this is a bad idea..." He hears a beeping in the background. "Just a minute, I've got another call."

She's gone long enough that he wonders if they've lost the connection. "Raylan?"

"Still here."

"We've got a situation."

"What?"

"That was Hank Reynolds. Reeve's warehouse just blew up."


	74. Chapter 74

"Do you think Haley and her mom and sister were in that warehouse?" Winona asks. They're sitting in the car with the heater on full blast. The cabbie dropped them off in the parking lot by the bar where the car's been out in the cold all night and most of the day, and all the windows are iced over. The scraper is in _his _car, so there's no choice but to wait and let the defroster do its work.

He tips his head down, the hat hiding his eyes. She's noticed him do this when he's frustrated or trying to avoid a fight. Right now, her money is on frustrated. "I dunno. I sure hope not." This is punctuated with a loud exhalation. Definitely frustrated. "Linda didn't know how bad it was, but, if they blew the place up, they did it for a reason. There was somethin' in there they didn't want us to find." He hits the wipers, but they remain frozen. Useless. His growing frustration is plainly visible when he smacks the steering wheel and mutters, "Dammit!"

"Tell me again why you didn't just have Brett pick you up? Why am I going to Trina's?"

"Just a feeling."

She turns and looks at him, suspicious. "What kind of feeling?" He doesn't answer right away, and her uneasiness increases. He's not telling her everything. "Raylan? What's going on?"

"I think Reeve's tying up loose ends. He wants to pin Chuck's murder and all the rest of it on Uline. Like the guy was acting on his own. Brett and I _know _that's not likely. We're the one's talked to Haley and he has no idea what she's told us."

"So, what, you think he'd come after you? "

"Probably not. More trouble than it's worth messing with the Feds." He hits the wipers again and they scrape noisily against the windshield. "But Linda says the ADA has had someone followin' her. The police have taken it seriously enough to give her a driver and protection at her house. I don't want you at the apartment alone. Just in case." He squeezes her hand. "Won't you have more fun spendin' the evening with Trina anyway?"

"If Brett's involved, too, wouldn't they be just as likely to come after him?"

"Maybe, but Brett thought it might be fun for you and Trina to take the kids to that hotel, the new one with the indoor water park?"

She stares at him. "I didn't pack a suit."

He looks sheepish. "I found one in the drawer and stuck it in the side pocket of your bag."

"So you planned this? You planned on just shipping me off and not telling me about it? What else are you keeping from me?

"Winona..."

She doesn't like the way this is going. "I thought Linda had taken you off the case."

He looks at her, earnest and sincere. "No one saw this coming. She needs everyone on this. I told her I'd pick up Brent and meet her and Dan out at the warehouse. We just want you and Trina someplace safe. No one's going to bother you in a crowd like that."

"But..."

"Winona, please? Just do this for me, okay?"

She shrugs. He isn't going to back down; she knows that well enough. "Alright, but we aren't done talking about this."

A clear spot appears at the center of the windshield, gradually growing larger, and Raylan peers through it. Evidently satisfied, he shifts the car into gear and drives slowly out of the lot.

"You can't possibly see well enough to..." He shoots her a sideways look and she shuts her mouth, pursing her lips together tight.

"It's fine. I can see."

She leans back against the seat and lets him drive.

-o-o-O-o-o-

The scene outside the warehouse couldn't be any more different than their first visit. The chain link fence surrounding the warehouse has been breached and there are fire-trucks, SLP cars, and other emergency vehicles scattered around the outside of the still smoldering building. One end is a pile of rubble. The roof of the central part is caved in. Only the back corner of the structure is comparatively undamaged.

As he gets out of the car, Raylan's eyes sweep the crowd of uniforms milling about until he spots Linda and Dan, huddled with three other men in suits. "I see 'em," he says to Brett. Carefully stepping over hoses and scattered debris, they make their way over.

"There you are," Linda says with some relief. "Gentlemen, these are two of my other marshals, Raylan Givens and Brett Larson. They've been involved from the beginning and have talked with some of Reeve's people." She turns back to them. "These men are FBI, Agents Collins, Roush, and Eastman." They all shake hands. Collins is a tall black man with graying hair. Eastman is a bit younger, short and bald in a black suit that fit him better ten or fifteen pounds ago. The youngest of the three, bland, blonde Roush, is obviously in charge.

"The Chief here tells me you thought your missing witnesses might be inside?" He says.

Raylan nods. "We don't know. But they could've been."

"I hope they weren't down there," Eastman points a long arm toward the collapsed end of the building.

"No shit," Brett says.

Linda raises an eyebrow and shoots him a warning glance. Raylan catches her meaning. None of them _like_ the F.B.I. or the fact that they're involved now, but they have to deal with it. There's no reason to make it worse.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees the fireman carrying the radio walk over and lean against the engine, doffing his helmet and thick gloves and wiping his face with a towel. He puts one boot-clad foot up on the back of the truck and lowers his head in exhaustion or misery.

"Be right back," Raylan tells the others. He feels Linda's gaze follow him.

He identifies himself to the fireman, showing his badge. "We're tryin' to track a missing witness, three, actually. You find any..."

"I'm Captain Ramirez, no bodies, thank God," the man says. "Looks like the place was empty except for some boxes full of papers and..." he pauses and gives Raylan a 'you didn't hear this from me' look. Raylan nods and he continues, "...strategically placed cans of gasoline and paint thinner. Very amateur." He takes a long swig from a bottle of water and gives Raylan another knowing look. "Almost _too_ amateur. Whoever did this didn't care if anyone knew it was arson. In fact, they wanted us to know. Either that or they're stupid."

Raylan tips his head back, hands on his hips. "These folks aren't stupid."

"Didn't think so." He sighs and picks up his equipment.

The radio crackles. "I'd better get back in there," Ramirez says. He pushes the button. "Ramirez. That you Neil?"

Raylan hears a scratchy voice come over the connection. "Yeah. Grab the paramedics. We're comin' out with three. Kids. One unconscious. Dave just went back 'cause the girl is crying about there being a baby still in there."

"What the hell?" The Captain's face turns red and Raylan imagines the man's blood pressure just went up several points. "I thought we checked everywhere. How the hell'd we miss a bunch of kids?"

"They were hiding. There's a false wall in one of those utility closets...they got a whole room back there, beds, toilet, everything. Found 'em under one of the beds. Lots of smoke in there, but no fire. Girl was smart, wrapped wet towels around their faces. They're lucky. Another ten minutes or so..."

There's a commotion by the door at the more stable end of the building and three paramedics take off running. One fireman emerges with two wrapped bundles in his arms, and a second follows carrying a girl. Even from this distance Raylan can tell it's not Haley, this girl's hair is too long. Then he remembers Taylor's hair was longer and a mousey brown, just like he sees hanging down over the fireman's shoulder.

"I think I know that girl," he says to Captain Ramirez. "She may be one of the witnesses we had in protective custody."

"Be my guest." Ramirez walks toward the building, beckoning Raylan to follow.


	75. Chapter 75

Winona rests her back on the pillows propped up against the headboard, crosses one bare leg over the other and takes a swallow from her bottle of beer, frowning.

"You're still mad, huh?" Trina asks. She's rubbing her damp hair vigorously with a towel and when she stops the curls stand out in all directions. She hangs her head and runs her fingers through it, untangling.

"Sure, I'm still angry. He didn't even ask me what I wanted. He didn't even _tell _me until we were in the car headed to your house. He made the decision for me like I'm some kind of...child." She feels like yelling, but she keeps her voice down. Madeline and Walt are finally asleep, exhausted from swimming and playing, and she doesn't want to wake them. "This damn job." She takes another drink. "Makes him suspicious of everything. He had his eyes in the rear view mirror the whole drive over."

Trina laughs. "Brett does that, too. Oh, and if we're at a bar or restaurant, he always has to sit where he can see the door, which means I always end up with a lovely view of the kitchen or the back wall."

Winona cocks her head, thinking. "I hadn't noticed that, but you're right. Raylan does the same thing. And he's always scoping out the room, too; like he's waiting for something to happen." She finishes the beer and sets the bottle on the nightstand. Trina reaches into the tiny fridge, pops the cap on a new one and hands it to her, grabbing another for herself.

"Does he give you safety lessons all the time, too? '_Always get your keys out before you go outside so you aren't fishing in your purse. Don't talk on the phone while you're walking to the car. Pay attention to who is around you_.' " Trina tips her chin down and lowers her voice as she ticks off the list, sounding so much like Brett it makes Winona giggle.

Trina goes on. " '_Before you get into your car look in the backseat and the floor of the passenger side. Get in quickly and lock all the doors.' _ I bet he never tried any of that with a toddler hanging onto one hand and a screaming baby in the other. And car seats? Forget it. Get in quickly my ass."

Winona laughs out loud, some of her anger at Raylan dissipating in the camaraderie with Trina over the irritating quirks their men share.

"Sometimes all this safety shit he does backfires," Trina says. "Brett installed deadbolts on all the bedroom doors on the _inside_ so we could lock them if someone was in the house, but one day Walt was in his room playing and he shut the door and locked it. I tried to tell him how to open it, but he just got scared and started crying. I had to take the door off the hinges to get him out."

"What did Brett say about that?"

Trina snorts and takes a long drink from her beer. "The first thing he said is that I should have been watching him. But after a night on the couch he put duct tape over the deadbolts in both the kids' rooms."

"Raylan's always throwing possible scenarios at me." She doesn't attempt to imitate him. "Like..._'What would you do if someone followed you out of the mall_?' Or..._'If someone grabs you from behind how would you get away?_'"

"Yes!" Trina shouts out in agreement, then covers her mouth with her hand and peers anxiously at the blanket-covered lumps on the bed. Neither child awakes. "What ifs...all the time..._'What if another car was following you, or tried to force you off the road_."

"That's a good one," Winona nods. "Raylan hasn't used that one yet."

"Oh, don't worry, he will. It's like they get a script at FLETC or something."

Winona smiles. "Raylan was right about one thing though."

"What's that?" Trina flops on the bed, crossing her legs Indian style and flicking on the television.

"This is more fun than sitting at home alone."

Trina clinks the neck of her bottle against Winona's. "That's the truth."

-o-o-O-o-o-

The paramedic is sliding an oxygen mask over Taylor's face when Raylan walks up. After identifying Raylan to the young man, Captain Ramirez continues past them to speak to his men.

Raylan takes the paramedic, an efficient young black man whose name-tag reads Trevon, aside. "Can I talk to her for just a minute?"

Trevon shakes his head. "She's breathing alright, but she's got some smoke inhalation, man, we really need to get her to the hospital."

"She can leave the mask on." Raylan says. "I just need to ask her a couple of questions. It'll only take a minute. Or I can ride along, just let me tell my boss."

"If you're a cop, I guess that'd be okay." Trevon tucks the blanket tightly around the girl and stays close, protective. "Just try not to upset her. Do you know what the hell she was doin' in there?"

"I'm not sure." Raylan squats beside the gurney, meeting the girl's eyes. "You remember me?"

There's a slight nod and one small hand reaches for the mask, but the paramedic grasps her wrist, stopping her. "You gotta leave it on, Taylor, sweetie." She taps her head with her other hand.

Raylan's puzzled for a moment, then she taps her head again, harder, her eyes questioning. "Oh," he says. "My hat?"

She nods, her mouth tight under the mask.

"It's in the car." He tells her. "So you _do_ remember me?"

There's an eye roll to accompany this nod.

He smiles. Like her mother, now he can see there's more spunk there than he originally thought. "Taylor, you're a really smart girl. What you did saved your life and those other kids, too. I'll be right back. I'm gonna ride along to the hospital, ask you a few questions, okay?"

Nod.

"Gimme just a minute," Raylan says to Trevon, already moving back toward where Brett is still clustered with Linda and the F.B.I. agents.

"What's going on?" Linda asks

"The girl they just brought out is Taylor Matthews, Haley's sister. No sign of Haley though. I'm gonna ride along in the ambulance and see if she can tell us anything."

Linda clears her throat and Brett shoots him a warning glance.

Raylan reaches up to adjust the hat, but not finding it, runs a hand over his hair and sighs. "That is, if it's alright with you."

"Yes, you _may_," Linda says, smiling. "Larson, why don't you follow the ambulance to the hospital and give Raylan a ride back to the office, or home to get some sleep. I'll leave that up to the two of you."

"Will, do," Brett says. "See you there, Raylan."

Raylan hurries back to the ambulance and hops in the back with Taylor and Trevon, who's bandaging several cuts and scrapes on the girl's arms and legs, and the ambulance starts to move.

There's relief in the girl's eyes when she sees him. Raylan wonders what she's seen. What in the hell has she been through since the night Chuck was killed? "I told you I'd be back,' he says, soft. "Okay, I've just got a few questions. You aren't in any trouble. You're doin' great. You can just answer 'yes' or 'no' by nodding your head, okay?"

Nod.

"Were you alone with the other kids?"

Nod.

"For a long time?"

She shakes her head, then shrugs her shoulders.

"Sometimes it's hard to tell how much time has passed," he says, reassuring her. Now come the harder questions.

"Taylor, do you know where Haley is?"

Her eyes fill, and she shakes her head again and reaches for the mask. Raylan eyes the paramedic.

"She can take it off for just a minute. Then that's it. No more questions until she's been seen at the Emergency Room."

"Alright, Taylor, you can take the mask off and talk to me."

Two tears make their way down her face as she starts to speak in a rush. "I haven't seen Haley since that last night at the house. Mom was here, but then yesterday some men came in and there was a lot of noise and shouting and she told me to take the boys and hide, so I did." She's crying in earnest now. "I want my mom," she says, hiccupping.

Trevon leans over and replaces the mask, smoothing her hair back with a broad hand. "That's enough." He glares at Raylan.

Sighing, Raylan starts to sit back, but Taylor reaches out and grabs his hand, clinging to it with surprising strength. "It's okay. You helped a lot. We're gonna keep you safe now."


	76. Chapter 76

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan paces outside of the examination room, one hand on his hip, the other pressing the phone to his ear. The reception is lousy inside the hospital, and he can hardly make out what Linda is saying.

"The FBI what?" He asks for the second time.

"They're taking over the case."

"What do you mean they're takin' over?"

Brett is slumped in one of the hard plastic chairs lining the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes closed, but he looks up at Raylan's words. "Shit, I knew it." He mutters, lowering his head again wearily.

"It was never really in our jurisdiction." Linda sighs. "They seem to think they did us some kind of favor letting us handle it this long, especially after what happened." He hears a car door slam and her voice becomes clearer. "Now that Reeve has disappeared..."

"Disappeared? When? He was there when They executed the first warrant."

"I'm not getting much from them at this point, but I think they believe he's left the country."

"Then he's a fugitive and that is our jurisdiction..."

"Not without an arrest warrant," she reminds him. "And we don't have one."

He sighs and takes another approach. "What about Taylor? I haven't even gotten to talk to her since we got here. I promised I'd keep her safe and now I'm supposed to turn her over to strangers? Hasn't she been through enough?"

"Raylan, this isn't negotiable."

He shakes his head at Linda's words. There has to be a way, something they could do..."Can't we work the case togeth..."

"It's over."

"But Chuck..."

"Chuck's gone, Raylan."

"Dammit! I know that."

"Look, they're on their way. I'm surprised they aren't there already. Play nice." She advises. "Brett, too."

Raylan slides down the wall to a sitting position, pushing his heels into the floor. The burning in his legs gives him something to focus on and stops him from hurling the cell phone across the waiting room. "The FBI is..." he starts.

"I heard," Brett says. "And speak of the devil." he nods toward the sliding door.

Agent Roush walks in, wiping his glasses with a tissue and replacing the silver frames carefully on his face. He's followed closely by the black man, Collins. Only short, bald Eastman of the ill-fitting suit is absent.

"Deputy Givens." Roush nods, curtly. "Where's the girl?"

Raylan hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "Doc's lookin' her over."

The man glances at his watch. "We're on a tight schedule here. Did she give you anything in the ambulance?"

Raylan shrugs. "Not much. She's eleven. She wants her mama."

Collins shifts his weight and brushes a smudge of dirt from the sleeve of his jacket. "Well, there's nothing we can do about that, at least not yet."

Raylan feels the heat rise to his face and remembers Linda's admonishment. He takes a deep breath. "What are you talking about, '_not yet_'? Do you know where Haley and Lena Mathews are?"

"Not Haley, regrettably," Roush answers for his agent. "But I can tell you for certain that Lena is safe."

Brett stands, closing the circle of four. "How do you know?"

Collins nudges his boss with an elbow. "They aren't the enemy. You might as well tell 'em."

"Yeah, tell us." Raylan says, eyes narrowing.

"She's with one of ours," Roush takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes.

Brett smacks the wall with the palm of his hand, startling the people in the waiting room. Even Collins jerks in surprise. "You've got someone inside."

"Keep your voice down," Roush hisses. He looks around and spotting an orderly waves him over and flashes his badge. "Is there someplace private we could have a quick meeting?"

"Yeah, I know a place." The orderly leads them down the narrow hall, pushing open a heavy wide door and flipping on the light switch. The room is narrow, maybe two or three stretchers would fit side by side, and the temperature is cool enough that Raylan is immediately glad for his jacket. "We stick bodies in here until the morgue staff can come pick them up." The orderly explains. "If we let 'em hang around in the hall it upsets the other patients." He grins. "No one's died tonight, so you're in luck. But don't be too long. You never know." He winks and leaves, easing the door shut quietly behind him.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Raylan spits as soon as the orderly is out of earshot. Collins takes a step back as Raylan fixes his gaze on him. "You've got someone undercover. A woman, most likely. Less suspicious."

The agent doesn't deny it.

Brett turns to Roush, barely concealing his fury. "You've had an agent on the inside this whole time and you didn't think that was something you should _share _with the United States Marshal service? Last I looked we work for the same boss."

Roush crosses his arms over his chest. "We have to protect our people. You know as well as I do that the fewer people who know about an undercover operation, the better."

"That's true," Raylan acknowledges. "But we're workin' together." He dips his head, both hands on his hips. When he looks up he adds, "At least I _thought _we were workin' together."

Roush points his finger at Raylan, then at Brett. "We are working together. We let you all handle it...even after the witness _you _were supposed to protect ended up right back where she started or worse."

"Chuck Paul _died _protecting her, or trying to. And we haven't stopped looking for her since..." Brett is shouting now.

"Well you haven't found her, have you!" Roush yells back.

Raylan clenches his jaw and counts to ten in his head. "It woulda helped to know that Lena and Taylor were safe, that someone had an eye on them. Then we coulda followed other leads."

"Other leads?" He scoffs. "You don't have any other leads."

"Boys, boys," Collins says, his voice calm. "Finger pointing isn't getting us any closer to answering the questions we need answered."

There's a rap at the door and a nurse sticks her head in. "Is one if you a Deputy Givens?"

"That's me."

"Our patient is asking for you."

Roush steps forward. "I'll go with you."

-o-o-O-o-o-

A soft rapping at the door wakes Winona. Glancing at the clock, she sees it's a little past five, almost morning. Easing past the bed where Trina sleeps with the kids, she pulls one of the beach towels off the heater, wraps it around herself and goes to the door. The peephole is high on the door, and she stands on tiptoe to peer out. Raylan and Brett stand in the hallway, heads down. Raylan's hat is in his hand, and his hair is rumbled and out of place, like he's just run his fingers through it. Brett is rubbing his eyes. They look exhausted.

She opens the door. Holding a finger to her lips, she points to the sleeping kids in the bed and the men walk in quietly. Chilly air from the hallway follows them in and Winona shivers as she crawls back under the covers, her back to the door. She watches Raylan silently strip down to his boxers and scoots over, making room, as he slides in beside her.

"I figured you'd just go home," she whispers.

"Brett wanted me to drop him off here, and it seemed foolish to drive all that..." he stops. "I wanted to see you." He reaches out and strokes her face with a finger. "You still mad?"

"I never said I was mad."

He sighs, and he's close enough that she feels his chest move with the breath. "You don't need to say anything. I can always tell when you're mad."

"I'm not mad anymore," she says, raising up on one elbow to look down at him. "But next time, talk to me. Let me be part of the decision instead of treating me like a child."

"I was only tryin' to protect..."

She puts a finger to his lips. "I know. Without giving me a choice. Like you would a child. If you had told me from the start what was going on, do you think I would have insisted on staying at the apartment by myself?"

There's another sigh, and in the dim light she sees the muscles in his jaw relax a little, the lines on his forehead smoothing out as the tension eases. "I guess not."

"Okay then, trust me to make good decisions." She moves down and kisses him, soft, then fits her head into the curve of his shoulder, warm and solid. He strokes her hair with a broad hand. "So what happened? Are the girls okay?"

"Taylor's fine, that's Haley's sister, but we didn't find Haley or her mom. The FBI thinks they know where they are, but they aren't sayin' and they took our case. The mother-fucker runnin' the show wouldn't hardly let me talk to Taylor before they took her off. She trusted me and I had to turn her over to strangers."

"I'm sorry, Raylan. But won't they take good..."

"Oh, she'll be safe enough, but I suggested putting her with Rachel at the Lamberts and he'd hear none of it. At least she knows Rachel. That would've been a comfort."

"So what happens now?"

"Nothin'." His jaw is clenching again, she can feel the muscles in his neck tighten. "They said they don't need us. They're gonna handle it from here."

She can hear the frustration in his voice, the anger at not being able to see this through, find some justice for Chuck, and finish what they started all those months ago. There's nothing she can say to make that better, and with Brett and his whole family sleeping three feet away, she can't comfort him the usual way, so she lays a hand on his chest and stays quiet. After a few minutes, Raylan covers her hand with his and sinks into sleep.


	77. Chapter 77

The office is quiet on Monday morning. Linda's door is shut and she's bent over paperwork. There are two notes on Raylan's desk; one to please return a phone call from Hank Reynolds, the second, in Linda's neat script, is a request for him to copy all of his files and notes on the case, from the day Jeremiah Fowler shot him until his abbreviated interview with Taylor in the ambulance. He glances at the thick folder. _Shit_. That's a good half-hour standing at what the entire office swears is the slowest copy machine west of the Mississippi.

Procrastination is a wonderful thing. He picks up the phone to call Reynolds.

Ten minutes later he raps on Linda's door and sticks his head in. "Chuck's homicide is still an SLPD matter, right? The FBI hasn't taken that over, too?"

"Ha," Linda laughs. She looks up at him over the top of glasses he doesn't remember her wearing before. "It's still a local matter, why?"

"You care if I head over to the hospital, maybe have a word with Uline? Hank Reynolds says he's conscious and willing to talk."

She chews on her pen for a moment, then points it at him. "That's fine. But any information he _might _reveal that pertain to Haley's case need to be reported immediately; directly to Agent Roush."

"Absolutely." Raylan says. "Thanks, boss."

"Be back this afternoon. I got a fugitive pick up for you and Brett."

Raylan pauses in the doorway, fiddling with the hat. "You need that done first?"

"Nah, we got a tip on where the guy may be this afternoon, so you've got time." She picks up the phone and he's dismissed. "Oh," she calls as he walks away. "Make those copies for the bureau though, before you go. Just set 'em on my desk. I've got a meeting."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona is juggling a stack of files and kicking the door shut with her foot when the phone rings. She sets the files on the desk, where they promptly slide off, tipping her unfinished coffee and spilling the contents all over the desk.

"Shit," she mutters. Grabbing several tissues from the box she tries to staunch the flow and pick up the phone at the same time. "Winona Givens."

"Hey, Darlin'."

"Daddy!" She smiles, despite the mess, cradles the phone under her chin and mops at the spill. Luckily, nothing too important got wet. She hasn't talked to her father since he called to congratulate them right after the wedding. She's been meaning to call him, but always forgets the time change, and by the time she thinks of it, it's too late.

"How's the newlyweds?"

"We're good, Daddy. How are you?"

It takes him a moment to answer. "I'm fine, Sugar." The pause and something in his voice make her doubt his words.

"You sure?"

"I'm fine. It's your mama I'm calling about."

Winona sits heavily in the chair, bracing herself for bad news. She's already glancing at the calendar and calculating the cost of flying home if things have gotten really bad. "What's happened to Mama?"

"Well, now, this is good news, in a way...I don't want to get your hopes up, which is why I waited to call, but..."

"Daddy, just tell me what's going on."

"She had a fall about a month ago and broke her collarbone. In the ER they figured out she was dehydrated and malnourished so they admitted her."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"It wasn't like she was gonna die, Darlin'. And she was pissed as hell 'bout bein' in the hospital. I didn't want to ruin you and Raylan's honeymoon. I know it was short as it is."

"You should've called."

Another long pause, and she can hear the noise and traffic of the dealership behind him. "You're right. I shoulda called." He says, finally. "Anyway, she landed a good doc there in the ER. Lady doc. Came and checked on her once she was upstairs. She's the one who realized right away that your mama was in withdrawl." Someone says Daddy's name and he stops. "Just a minute, I know I called you at work, but can you hang on a minute?"

"I'm done until after lunch. Do you want to call me back?"

"No, no, this will only take a minute." There's a muffled conversation and then he's back on the line. "Okay, now, that doc, well, your mama took a shine to her so when she suggested rehab she went along with it."

"Mama's in rehab? Really?" Winona grabs another tissue, dabbing at the sudden and unexpected tears. This isn't the news she had imagined, it _is_ good news, like Daddy said, but she can hardly dare to hope it will last, or change anything.

"She's forty-two days sober. That might not seem like much, but it's the longest she's been sober since..."

"I know." The next question pops out before she can stop herself. "Are you getting back together?"

"I don't think that's gonna happen, Sweetie." He sighs. "There's a lot of water under that bridge." He's tapping his pen on the desk. She can hear the rhythmic click, click, click. It's a habit he's had as long as she can remember. He's never still, always moving something; a foot, fingers on the steering wheel when he drives, or this, tapping a pen or pencil, which drove her mama crazy. A picture of Raylan flashes in her head, and she smiles, realizing he's constantly in motion, too.

"We are talkin' though," Daddy adds. "I had dinner with her last night. Pretty good grub for a hospital. She ate, too."

"Good."

"Thing is, I wanted to give you a heads-up. Part of her therapy, part of the process, is acknowledging that you've hurt people and asking them for forgiveness."

She vaguely recalls that as one of the twelve steps when she'd read about AA and left pamphlets lying around the house the summer before she took off for good.

"She wrote you a letter. I mailed it for her today."

"What did she say?"

"Well now, I didn't read it, Darlin'."

"But she told you, didn't she? That's why you had dinner, because she knew you'd seen me?"

"I think I know the gist of it, but it t'aint my place to tell you. It's between you and her. You should get it in a day or two."

"Okay," she says. She feels small and unsure and wonders what it is that turns perfectly rational adults into twelve-year-olds when talking to their parents. "What should I do?"

Daddy is quiet. "That's up to you. She's put you through a lot. Maybe you can't forgive her, or maybe you can forgive but you don't want to see her or...maybe you do. I can't answer those questions, Noni, only you can."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan's phone rings just as he pulls into the hospital parking lot. The files are copied and on Linda's desk, as she requested, but not without an hour of frustration on his part. Not only was the copier slow, but today it decided to shred every other original he sent through the feeder, which meant he had to lift the lid and place each paper individually on the glass. He seriously considered taking out his gun and putting the machine and the entire office out of misery.

He glances at the phone. Winona. "Hey, how's your day?"

"Good. You got a minute?"

He's late as it is, and Hank Reynolds is waiting. "Not really. I wish I did, but I'm on my way up to question Uline...can it wait?"

There's silence on the other end of the phone as he pushes through the revolving door and into the quiet hospital lobby. The elevator door opens and he calls out. "Hey, hold that door, woulja?" Then back to Winona. "I'm probably gonna lose you in a minute here."

"Just stop in when you get back, okay?" She sounds pensive, and he wishes he had time to find out why, but he doesn't.

"I will." He clicks off, remembering too late about the fugitive Linda has a line on for this afternoon. Winona will just have to wait until he gets home.


	78. Chapter 78

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan fiddles with the radio on the drive back to the office. Unable to find anything worth listening to, he turns it off, tapping his fingers absentmindedly on the steering wheel. He found Uline interesting, if a bit less cooperative than he expected. Even the threat of the death penalty for the murder of a Federal officer didn't loosen his tongue all that much. He's probably as afraid of Reeves and his bunch as he is of the needle. Neither Hank Reynolds nor Raylan had the authority to take that possibility off the table. That was up to the District Attorney, and more than likely a Federal Prosecutor.

The man insisted he hadn't been the one to kill Chuck. Yes, he was there, but the plan had been simply to overpower whoever was watching, not kill them.

"That was when we thought it'd be you." He says to Raylan. "Two of us, one of you...no problem. The guy who showed up, though, was quite a bit bigger. I guess..."

Raylan gets the feeling he almost let a name slip out.

Uline recovers from the near miss and shrugs. "It didn't go like we planned. No one was supposed to get hurt."

"'Cept for Haley," Raylan says.

"I wasn't gonna hurt her." He plucks at the neck of the hospital gown with one hand and clears his throat. "Seemed like she liked me well enough."

Raylan grimaces and his fingers tighten around the brim of the hat in his hand. "You're a grown man and she's a child."

Another shrug. "She's old enough."

Hank Reynolds has been leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "Not according to the state of Utah."

At that point Uline starts blathering about the laws of God and the laws of men and Raylan excuses himself before he can do or say anything he wouldn't regret but that the U.S. Marshal Service might. Reynolds follows him out a few minutes later.

"I'm not sure if he's an asshole or an idiot." Reynolds says, sighing as they make their way to the elevators.

Raylan smirks. "The two aren't mutually exclusive."

Back at the office, he finds Brett looking over the file on their fugitive-of-the- day. "Zachary Steen," Brett reads. "Twenty-eight. Gross sexual imposition and public indecency. First offense. Released on bail and never showed up for sentencing."

"Linda said they got a bead on him. Where we pickin' him up at?"

Brett slaps the file down and puts on his jacket. "Hopefully at the Tri-County YMCA."

"What's he doin' at the YMCA?"

"According to the tip we got from 'Crime Stoppers' he's getting baptized."

-o-o-O-o-o

The Tri-County YMCA is a grey-brick and glass building surrounded by combination soccer and football fields, baseball diamonds, and basketball courts. A large outdoor swimming pool, drained for the winter, runs along one side, surrounded by a chain-link fence. The parking lot is crowded with cars.

"What sorta church baptizes on a Monday afternoon in the swimming pool at the YMCA?" Raylan asks.

Brett flips the file open. "The Temple of the Most Holy John the Baptizer." He looks at Raylan and rolls his eyes before adding "Incorporated. It says here that their baptismal tank at the church was declared a health hazard due to mold so now they do it at the Y."

"On Monday afternoons?"

Brett shrugs. "Who knows?"

The pretty college co-ed manning the front desk looks Raylan over appreciatively and gives him a beauty-pageant smile. "Can I help you?"

He returns the smile. "I hope so. We're here for the baptism."

She chokes a laugh, but quickly recovers. "Sorry. You two just don't look much like those church people." She shows them where to sign in and comes out from around the desk. "Follow me, it's easier to show you. They put you in the warm water pool 'cause we got a high school swim meet in the other one." She leads the way, ponytail and shapely ass bouncing along in front of them. "Down this hall and to your left." She looks down. "You're gonna have to take your shoes off. No street shoes allowed on the pool deck. There's a bench inside the locker room to set them on. You gotta go through there to get to the pool. Just follow the signs." She turns to go, calling back over her shoulder. "Don't forget to sign out at the desk when you leave."

The locker room is painted blue, with a bright white horizontal stripe about a foot from the floor. The word 'POOL' is stenciled in red on the white, with an arrow pointing the way. The word appears again above a heavy door. Steam fogs the glass and they can't see into the pool area. There's a low bench running along the wall beside the door. Shoes, maybe twelve or so pairs of them, are lined up on the bench. Brett slips off his loafers, stuffs his socks inside, and sets them beside a pair of high-top Nike basketball shoes. Raylan sits on a nearby chair and tugs off the boots.

"These better be here when we get back," he says. "They're my best pair. "I'm not leavin' my hat, that's for damn sure."

"I think the 'C' in YMCA stands for _Christian_."

"Yeah, well, in my experience that don't necessarily mean shit."

Brett laughs.

The pool is smaller than he expected. There's a group of people standing at what looks to be the shallow end. A tall skinny man wearing a white tunic belted at the waist is standing knee deep in the water; a second man stands in front of him. This man is wearing obnoxiously loud Hawaiian print swim trunks. His huge hairy belly hangs over the top. A heavy gold cross hangs around his neck.

The people huddled around the edge of the pool begin to sing. "_Shall we gather at the river, where bright angel feet have trod, with it's crystal tide forever, flowing by the throne of God..."_

The song echoes tinnily in the odd acoustics of the natatorium, making the singers sound like pubescent schoolboys.

Raylan leans over and peers at the photo clipped to the file. "That our guy?"

"Looks like it." Brett nods.

"Do we let him get baptized first?"

"Don't see why not," Brett says. "Can't hurt."

They lean against the tile wall, unnoticed by the group focused on the ceremony. The pastor mumbles some words they can't make out and holds a hand over Zachary Steen's head, then he bends the young man over backwards and dips him in the water three times. The crowd applauds, several of the women dabbing at their eyes with tissues. The pastor raises his arms and everyone else, including Steen bows their heads.

"Now's as good a time as any," Raylan says when the 'Amen' echoes. He leads the way to the edge of the crowd. "Zachary Steen?" The young man looks up, rivulets of water running down his face. "I'm Deputy Marshal Givens and this is Deputy Larson. We need to bring you in."

"Now just a minute, just a minute." Steen still stands knee-deep in the water, staring at them, but the pastor is climbing out. A woman hands him a towel, and he dries himself before offering his hand to Raylan and Brett in turn. "I'm Pastor Bob, and I appreciate that you have a job to do, but this young man, why, he's been born again and he is no longer the heathen you are looking for."

Raylan takes off the hat, holding it at his side. "I mean no disrespect, Pastor, but this fella has a debt that needs to be paid."

Pastor Bob looks him up and down. "Are you in good stead with Our Lord, Marshal? In a job like yours one never knows when the day may come that you'll be at the Heavenly Gates."

Raylan sighs, and Brett senses his frustration and takes the lead. "Look, Pastor, I..._we _appreciate the fact that you have aided this young man, and that he wants to turn his life around. Perhaps that will mean something to the judge at sentencing, but he really needs to do the right thing and come with us now."

"I ain't goin'!" Steen shouts. "I know what happens to guys like me in prison." He backs away from the edge of the pool into deeper water, looking over his shoulder at the far side of the pool and the lighted exit sign over the door leading to the parking lot.

"No, Zachary!" Pastor Bob yells. There must be a steep drop off in the pool, because suddenly the man disappears beneath the water. The minister looks at them helplessly. "He can't swim!"

"Can't you? You're the one wearin' swim trunks." Raylan glares at the man, thinking that the gold cross alone would probably sink him to the bottom. The rest of the crowd is staring, mouths agape.

"No, I can't," Pastor Bob shakes his head sadly. Steen surfaces, sputtering and gasping, then sinks again.

A murmur goes through the group. "You just gonna let him drown?" A heavy set woman steps forward. "You can't just let him drown!" She gives Raylan a shove, and he loses his balance, tumbling forward into the pool with a splash.

"Shit," Raylan says as he surfaces. "Dammit. My hat's all wet!" The woman gasps and he narrows his eyes at the crowd until they back away from the edge of the pool. "Hold this." He hands the dripping Stetson up to Brett just as Steen bobs up again. He makes his way over and hitches the man under the arms, pulling him to the surface. "Breathe, Asshole." he orders.

Panicking, Steen claws at Raylan, grabbing onto his shirt and dragging him under. The chlorine stings his nose and makes his eyes burn. "Goddammit, let me help you," he sputters. He gets a better grip on the young man and drags him along until he reaches shallow water and grabs onto the side. Brett reaches a hand down and pulls Steen from the pool.

Keeping a hold on the thin tunic Steen wears, Brett leans over to give Raylan a hand out of the pool. Sensing an opportunity, Steen gives Brett a shove, knocking him into the pool, slips out of the robe and takes off running, buck-naked, through the double glass doors, right into the high school swim meet.


	79. Chapter 79

High pitched screams pour in from the other natatorium as Brett and Raylan scramble out of the pool. Raylan takes off running, grabbing the hat and jamming it on his head. What the hell, he thinks as the rivulets of water run down his neck; he can't get any wetter anyway. He can hear Brett right behind as he pushes through the doors. His practiced eyes sweep the room. Evidently encouraged by the continued screams of several dozen teenaged girls in swimsuits, Steen has decided to take a victory lap around the pool instead of heading outside. One arm is up, waving to the crowd. So much for being cleansed of sin. Raylan nods and Brett switches direction, trapping the man between them.

Steen turns the corner of the pool, wanger waggling. Spying Raylan, he makes a quick reversal, only to spot Brett rapidly advancing on him from the other direction. Pure panic registers on his face, and the crowd is stunned into silence by the spectacle. Steen looks at the water, considering, then rejecting that idea, picks up speed. Raylan is caught off guard for a moment by the sight of the naked man barreling toward him. Steen brushes by and in a flying leap, Brett tackles the man from behind, knocking him face and wanger first into the concrete.

"Ow! Ow! My dick! My dick! I think you broke it! Ohhhhhh!"

Ignoring his cries, Brett pulls his hands behind his back and Raylan snaps on the cuffs. The crowd of parents and kids breaks into scattered applause as together they haul him to his feet.

"Oh my God," Steen wails, looking down at himself. "It's bleeding!"

"How bad is it?" Brett asks. "I landed on him pretty hard."

"I'm not lookin'," Raylan says to Brett. "You look."

"I'm not lookin' either. No way." Brett shakes his head. "We'll get him checked out later." To Steen he says, "You shouldn'tve run. Now you've got more charges on top of the originals _and _a busted wanger. Serves you right." He reaches for a towel lying on the bleachers and wraps it around the man's waist. "Here, these people have seen enough, although, you ask me, there isn't that much to see."

"That water was cold!" Steen yells, indignant. "Haven't you ever heard of shrinkage?"

Brett looks down at the floor, chuckling at the man's protest. "Dammit," he says, pointing to Raylan's bootless feet. "We forgot our shoes, too. I'll go get 'em."

When he returns Raylan lets go of Steen and leans against the wall to pull on his boots. Steen glances nervously around and takes a shaky step toward the door.

"Oh no you don't," Brett says, grabbing his arm. "Sit." He puts both hands on the man's shoulders and shoves.

"It's dirty down here." Steen complains, sinking to the floor.

"Tough shit," Raylan says. He finishes pulling the boots on, heaving a breath as he struggles to tug his wet jeans down over them. "You've caused enough trouble for today," he says, hauling Steen to his feet. "Let's get the hell out of here."

A crowd of church folks stand in the doorway shooting dirty looks at Brett and Raylan, as if the whole thing was _their _fault and Steen was some innocent they were railroading. "We'll pray for you, Zachary," the pastor calls.

Steen blinks back tears. "I can't go to prison!" He cries. "I can't! I'll die in there. Help me, Pastor."

The pastor approaches, laying a hand on Steen's arm. "Be strong, Son." Then he focuses on Raylan, his gaze compassionate and stern at the same time. "You watch out for him, now. He's a precious child of God."

"Yeah, a precious child of God who thinks everyone ought to get to look at his ding dong."

The pastor has nothing to say to that.

The ponytailed blonde who led them to the locker room gapes as they drag Steen through the lobby, wrapped in the towel and still wailing. "Hey," she yells as they exit through the doors to the parking lot. "You forgot to sign out!"

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona stares at the door and takes another swallow from her wine glass. Raylan never stopped by her office like he'd said he would. Now he's late. She's not angry, she's hurt, and she's not quite sure how to deal with that. She wishes she could get angry, and maybe she'll work into it when he finally gets home, but right now she just feels miserable and unimportant.

She pulls the stack of take-out menus from the basket on the counter and flips through. She's not particularly hungry, but it's something to do; something to think about instead of wondering where Raylan might be or worrying about the letter from her mother winging its way from Kentucky. Maybe she'll order some Thai. Raylan hates Thai.

A car door slams in the parking lot and she hears the familiar tread of Raylan's boots up the walkway. She thinks about hiding in the bedroom, making him seek her out to apologize, but the key jiggles in the lock and the door swings open before she can. When she sees the state he's in, some of her irritation evaporates into amusement.

"Raylan?" She looks him up and down, a half smirk on her face. "What happened to you?"

"I went swimmin' with my clothes on...what's it look like?" He snaps. He shrugs out of his jacket, shivering.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch pneumonia." She takes the jacket, sliding open the laundry door and throwing it on top of the dryer. When she turns around, he's gone. She hears him fumbling around in the bathroom and goes to see.

He's fishing around in the linen closet, still in his wet clothes. "Where's your hairdryer?"

"My hairdryer? What do you want with my hairdryer?"

"My hat." He points to where he's set it on the counter. "It's soaked." He looks at it sadly.

She covers her mouth, but the laugh escapes.

"It's not funny." He glares at her. "That's an expensive hat."

With some effort, she puts on a more serious face. "I know. I love that hat." She runs a finger around the brim. He's right. It's soaked. "How did you get all wet?"

"Hairdryer?"

She reaches under the sink and pulls out a basket. "I'd use the low setting. High would be too hot."

Raylan holds the dryer several inches from the hat and turns it on low. As he moves the dryer around carefully, he tells her the story of his afternoon.

She sits on the stool, one knee pulled up. "So you and Brett both went into the pool?" She smiles at the picture in her head.

"Yep." He feels the brim of the hat. "Almost dry."

"Good. And this guy ran naked through a high school swim meet?"

"Yep." He grins at her. "Buck naked. Had a tiny little..."

"Raylan!" She giggles.

"Shrinkage. He claimed the water was cold."

"Speaking of cold," she says. "You should get out of those wet clothes and take a hot shower." She stands and brushes a kiss on his cheek. "I'll order us some food."

"Pizza?"

"Sure."

The pizza place delivers, and it's going to be at least forty-five minutes. Winona finishes the wine in the glass on the counter in one swallow. The story of his day makes her anger and disappointment seem foolish now. Besides, she knows just how he can make it up to her. She makes her way back to the bathroom. She tosses her clothes on the floor and slips into the warm spray, running her hands across his broad shoulders and planting a soft kiss on the back of his neck. He turns around to face her, backing her against the shower wall, bending so his lips graze her neck.

"Shrinkage doesn't seem to be your problem," she murmurs. "Feels like you've got the opposite of shrinkage going on here, Cowboy."

"You feel like doing something about that?"

She smiles back at him. "Would I be in here getting all wet if I didn't?"


	80. Chapter 80

"So are you gonna open it?" Trina looks across at Winona as she nervously taps the envelope on the table.

"Eventually."

Trina rests her chin on one hand. "You think your mama might be waiting for some kind of answer?"

Winona shrugs. "It just came yesterday."

"Why didn't you open it last night?"

She picks up the spoon and stirs her iced tea. "Raylan surprised me by suggesting we go to dinner and a movie, so we got home late and went straight to bed."

"Uh-huh." Trina grins and Winona blushes.

"God, this newlywed shit needs to wear off soon." Trina laughs. "I'm starting to feel like an old married woman with two kids."

"You're not _old_," Winona says with a smile. She runs her fingers over the writing on the envelope.

"She's supposed to apologize, right? Make amends? Isn't that one of the steps?"

Winona nods. "Yes."

"So, it's not going to be anything bad...your daddy wouldn't have mailed it if he thought she was still being mean or spiteful."

"I know." She tucks the envelope back in her purse. "I'll read it tonight." She picks up the menu. "I think I'll get a salad. What are you going to have?"

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You have to read it eventually," Raylan says.

Winona is curled next to him on the couch, feigning interest in the basketball game he tuned into after dinner. She yawns and lays her head on his shoulder. "I know."

"So why not just get it over with?" Her head doesn't move so he tips her chin up with a finger. "Hey," he says, soft. "I'm right here. Why don't you open it and we can read it together?"

"I think I'll take a bath," she says, pushing up from the couch. She picks up the envelope from the coffee table and leans in to give him a kiss. "I think I need to do this on my own, Raylan."

The basketball game is over when Winona walks back into the living room. He has no idea who won. Her hair is damp and curling around her face and her eyes are red. She sits on the couch facing him, tucking one leg underneath her.

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind one ear, trailing his fingers along her cheek. "You read it?"

She nods, folding and unfolding the crinkled paper.

"You okay?"

She shakes her head, one tear trailing down her cheek. Her fingers wrap around his. "I think I should go see her."

"In Kentucky?"

Her mouth curves up, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "That's where she lives, Raylan."

"What did the letter say?"

She sighs, pulls her other leg up and sits Indian style, still facing him, still clutching his hand. "That she was sorry."

He huffs out a breath. "That all?"

"No," she says. She holds the letter out and he takes it. She's quiet while he reads.

"What the hell?" He says when he finishes, tossing it on the table. "That's kind of a shitty apology."

"Yeah, well, some people don't really change, do they?" She sighs. "She's right though. She and Valerie were always close."

"Yeah, but parents shouldn't have a favorite. Or if they do, they don't go tellin' the other one. 'Oh, sorry I drown my sorrows in booze and wasn't there for you but your sister was always my favorite.'"

"Spoken like a true only child." She smiles.

He frowns back at her. "You know I wasn't exactly anyone's favorite." His jaw clenches involuntarily. "I can't believe your father read that and let her send it."

"He said he didn't read it."

"Well, maybe he should've." He sighs, turning her hand over in his and fingering the ring circling her finger. "I don't understand why you want to go see her. Won't it just upset you?"

"Besides that phone call before Christmas, I haven't talked to Mama in four years. I'm glad she's sober. I'm glad she's climbing out of the hole she crawled into after Valerie died." She swallows and takes a deep breath. "I want her to see that I have a good life. That I'm happy in spite of her."

"Can't you tell her that over the phone?"

"I could, but then she wouldn't be able to see you." She leans in and kisses him. "I want her to meet you."

He pulls back from the kiss and looks at her. "You want me to go _with_ you?"

Her forehead wrinkles. "Of course I want you to go with me."

"Back to Kentucky? I thought we weren't ever going back to Kentucky."

"To live...this is just a visit...surely you don't mean to never see your Aunt Helen again."

He leans back against the cushions with a sigh. "'Nona, I just don't know if I can get away..."

"You've got vacation days. I know you do." Her eyes flash. "The FBI took that case, so ..."

"I wasn't intendin' to use my vacation goin' back to Kentucky."

"Fine." She stands and snatches the letter off the table. "I'll go by myself." She turns and stamps out of the living room. He follows her, only to have the bedroom door slammed in his face.

"Hey, 'Nona," he says, twisting the knob. "I'm sor..." His words are halted by the pillow that smacks into his face, followed by a blanket. "What the hell?"

She stands, hands on her hips glaring at him. "You don't want to go home with me, you don't need to come to bed with me."

"So what...I'm sleepin' on the couch?"

"Couch or floor, I don't much care. Goodnight, Raylan."

"Shit."


	81. Chapter 81

-o-o-O-o-o-

_I apologize to those of you faithfully following this story. Events in S3 of Justified and a nasty bout of the flu have interrupted the flow of my ideas. Chapters are slow in coming, but I fully intend to finish this. Please be patient and continue to read! _

_ Since this is now obviously a bit AU from what we now know about Winona's family, I may just keep it totally AU. It's my happy place._

-o-o-O-o-o-

The 'fasten seat belts' light goes off and Raylan stands to stretch, despite the fact that they obviously aren't going anywhere for a few minutes. Winona stays in her seat and glances out the window at the grey Kentucky sky, twisting her purse straps nervously.

He'd dozed on and off on the flight from Salt Lake to Chicago, but her fidgeting kept him from sleeping for long. He made the effort to stay awake and be company on the flight to Lexington. He held her hand, but she hadn't talked much. Now she looks up at him, panic in her eyes. "Maybe you were right. This is a bad idea."

"We're here, now," He says, "Let's go meet my mother-in-law."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"Turn up here," Winona says, leaning forward to peer out of the rain-streaked windows.

"Left or right?"

"What?"

"You said 'turn'. Left or right?"

"Left," she says. "No, wait. Right." He shoots her an exasperated look and she sighs. "These houses are new. This used to be a field. I haven't been here in years and we're coming from the opposite direction. Give me a break, Raylan."

The rain is coming down in torrents now, and he pulls the car to the side of the road. He takes one hand off the wheel and rests it on her leg. "What's the name of the road again?"

"Wildwood." She stares hard out the windows, trying to see through the pouring rain. "Valerie and I used to play in the field. It was full of flowers in the summer...weeds, I s'pose, but we thought they were flowers. We'd pick huge bunches of them and take them home to Mama or to the neighbors. We stumbled on a yellow-jacket nest once and ran home screaming. Valerie could run faster, and she tried to drag me along, but I still ended up getting stung a few times. It was never as much fun after that."

She turns back toward him. "I miss her. I always thought I left because of Mama, but...I think maybe I left because everything here reminds me of her. I can't get away from it. Back in Salt Lake, I hardly think of her, unless something strikes me."

"We won't stay. We can change the tickets and go back tomorrow if you want." The rain has let up and he steers the car back out onto the road.

"You're just trying to get out of lunch with your Aunt Helen."

Raylan's hands tighten on the wheel and an angry tone creeps into his voice. "I still can't believe you called her."

"If you say it wasn't my place I'll smack you." She says, half-teasing.

"I think you just wanted me to be as miserable as you are, being here," he says. "She better not bring Arlo."

"I told her that."

"What?" He swivels his head so quickly the hat slips down and she laughs. "You told her not to bring Arlo?"

"I said it might go better if she came alone, that I got the feeling you and your daddy didn't get along."

There's silence as he searches for the sign and turns onto Wildwood Drive. "What'd she say?"

"She said I might be right about that and laughed," Winona says. "She has a nice laugh."

"Yeah," Raylan says. "She does."

-o-o-O-o-o-

The house is a brick split-level, set off by two beautiful, blue spruce that tower over the front yard. The walkway up to the front door is lined with the remains of last summer's flowers. The porch is neat and brushed clean of pine needles, but a Christmas wreath still hangs on the door, even though it's February.

Winona's hand is damp in his, and she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's weird to stand here and ring the doorbell." She says, hesitating.

"Not for me." He reaches past her and presses the bell.

She stares at him, eyes wide. "I wasn't ready."

He squeezes her hand. "You'd _never_ be ready. Let's just do this."

-o-o-O-o-o-

He shoots a sideways glance at Winona as they pull into the hotel parking garage. Her eyes are dry, but there's a weariness and resignation there he can't remember seeing before. Her hands are clasped in her lap and she hasn't said a word since they pulled out of the driveway and made their way into downtown Lexington.

Now she turns to him. "You were right. I should have just called her on the phone."

He sighs. Barbara Griffiths is one of the most unpleasant people he's ever met, aside from his own father. But while Arlo was outright mean and verbally abusive, Winona's mother was genteel and welcoming on the surface. Her innate nastiness came out subtly in phrasing and tone, rather than blunt comments, but he knew it hurt all the same.

"I'm sorry." He takes her hand as they slip into the elevator to the lobby. "I shoulda said something, put her in her place."

"I didn't want you to. It only makes it worse. It's better to just ignore it, or pretend she didn't mean what you know she meant."

"I didn't like her insinuatin' I picked you up in some bar."

Winona looks up at him and laughs. "You did pick me up in a bar."

"But it wasn't like that." He says. "She made it sound..." He feels his jaw tense remembering the woman's words and the disparaging way she'd looked at her daughter.

"Let's not talk about it." Winona says. She leans against him and he puts his arm around her. "We don't have to see her again."

"Damn right."


	82. Chapter 82

She's never been down this far past Lexington, not on this road, anyway. The diner that Helen suggested sits about half way between the city and Harlan. The sign posted at the outskirts announces that they are entering Stinking Creek; population 1,567.

"Where do you suppose it got its name?" Raylan asked with a smirk.

She turns to him, watching his hands on the wheel, confident and sure. The only indication of his unease is the line of worry creasing his forehead. "I'd imagine there's a smelly creek around here somewhere." She says, smiling.

"Mining run-off." He nodded. "It's not so bad now; but when I was a kid..."

They round a curve in the road and the diner appears. Winona considers it a good sign that there are ten or so vehicles in the parking lot, mostly pick-ups and late model sedans with obvious wear.

As they pull in, a woman emerges from a battered blue pick-up truck at the other end of the parking lot. She's wearing a neat skirt with a patchwork pattern and a tan barn jacket. There's a cigarette hanging from her mouth. She tosses it to the ground and stamps it out with her foot.

"Is that her?"

Raylan nods. "Yep, that's Helen."

Shading her eyes with one hand, the woman watches Raylan park the car, then moves toward them in long, sure strides.

"I'm a little nervous," Winona says.

Raylan shoots her a raised eyebrow as he opens the car door. "Yeah? Well, this whole thing is your doin'. You just remember that." He sighs. "At least she didn't bring Arlo."

She smooths her skirt and opens her own door, stepping out into the gravel. She should've worn flats, but she wanted to make a good impression. Now she figures she looks plain silly trying to maneuver through the stone in these stupid shoes. She looks at Helen again. The woman's shoes are sensible, but the skirt she wears is probably not her everyday attire. Winona pushes aside her self-consciousness and makes her way to where Raylan stands, one hand on his hip, watching his aunt come closer.

"Well," Helen says when she's about ten feet away. "You gonna make me walk all the way?"

Raylan closes the distance between them in two steps and leans in to kiss her cheek. "Good to see you, Helen."

She meets his eyes. "Yeah, well, I have a good idea we wouldn't be seein' each other at all if it weren't for your wife." She steps around Raylan and holds out a hand to Winona. "It's nice to meet you in person, Winona."

"You, too, Ma'am."

"None of that 'Ma'am' stuff. You're a Givens, too. I'm Helen."

"Alright, Helen." Winona smiles.

"I 'spect you're both hungry." Helen looks Raylan up and down. "You're too skinny." She glances at Winona. "So're you."

"And you're the same as ever," Raylan says. But there's more than a little affection in his words.

The diner is small and crowded, but it's clean and the food smells good. They slide into a booth and an awkward silence descends. Helen sips the coffee the waitress brought without being asked and turns her gaze to Winona. "How was your visit with your mama? That's why you're here in Kentucky, isn't it?"

"It was fine," Winona says too quickly. Raylan squeezes her hand under the table.

Helen looks skeptical, but doesn't pry any further. The waitress returns and they order. "So what was Raylan like growing up?" Winona asks, eager to avoid more silence or questions about their visit with Mama.

Raylan shakes his head in annoyance and Helen laughs. "Ornery, as you can imagine."

"I figured that." Winona says, smiling.

Helen tilts her head thoughtfully. "He was a good boy most of the time, though. Quiet."

Raylan's face reddens. "Kinda had to be in that house."

Helen takes another long sip of coffee and fishes her cigarettes out of her purse. She reaches for the ashtray, but Raylan slides it away from her. "Nasty habit. You really oughta quit."

She raises up off the seat and grabs the glass bowl, scowling at him. "Last I checked you weren't in charge of me. I'll take my pleasures where I can get 'em, thank you very much." She lights up and takes a drag, inhaling deeply. "Aren't you even gonna ask about your daddy?"

"Why?" Winona feels Raylan's whole body tense at the mention of Arlo. "He ever ask about me? He even know you know where I am?"

"Of course he _knows_, Raylan." She takes another puff. "I told him you got married."

Raylan snorts a laugh. "I can imagine what he had to say about that."

Their food arrives and they eat in silence. Half his sandwich gone, Raylan looks up. "And how _is_ Arlo?"

Helen smiles, slightly, then shakes her head. "He's outta jail."

Raylan crumples his napkin and tosses it on the table. "What was it this time?" He looks her over. "He didn't hit you."

Helen barks a laugh. "He knows better. Got into a fight with Hank Newton at the VFW. Bartender called the sheriff and he threw 'em both in jail. Your daddy took a swing at the deputy while he was loadin' him into the car."

"Of course he did."

"It was Doyle Bennett."

Raylan's brow crinkles. "That Mag's oldest? Dickie's brother?"

"The same."

To Winona's surprise, Raylan laughs. "I'da probably taken a swing at him myself. So, Doyle's a deputy, huh? That must be convenient."

"I'm sure it is." Helen says, holding up her coffee cup for the waitress to fill. "Doyle married that Stewart girl from Concord. They've got a baby on the way."

The waitress slaps the check down on the table. "Anything else?" She asks, only half-interested in the answer.

"The pie here is good," Helen says. She smiles at Raylan, and it's a smile full of love. "But I've got Jamcake in the truck."

"That's all, thank you," Raylan tells the waitress. He smiles at Winona. "Wait until you taste Helen's Jamcake."


	83. Chapter 83

-o-o-O-o-o-

He can tell something's up the minute he walks into the office Monday morning. Brett and Dan are huddled over Brett's computer and Linda is pacing in her office, phone to her ear.

"What's goin' on?" Raylan asks, sliding up and peering over Dan's shoulder. The picture on the computer screen shows several sheriff's cars and unmarked vehicles and a coroner's van with people milling about. Brett clicks and a second picture flashes on the screen; there are white flag markers sticking up out of the ground, Raylan counts eleven of them before Brett changes the picture again, this time there's a blurred image of what looks like a pile of rags. Only it's not. There's a white flash of bone, pale skin, and dark hair.

"They've found bodies in the desert," Brett says.

Raylan gets a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Grant, Givens, Larsen," Linda calls from the doorway and motions to the conference room. When they're all gathered she stares down at the table, tapping nervously with the fingers of one hand. "That was the FBI on the phone. Evidently, last Thursday they froze all of Reeve's U.S. and foreign assets, trying to flush him out. Looks like it worked." She flips on the television and clicks to CNN. _"Thirteen bodies were found in the Arizona desert just east of Yuma," the announcer's tone is low and serious. "Among them were the remains of three children under the age of twelve, four teenage females, and five women. The body of one man was found in a burned-out vehicle three miles from the site. All of the victims except the driver of the truck appear to have been shot once in the head. A source close to the FBI tells CNN the victims are believed to be members of a polygamist cult run by Jameson Reeve. Warrants have been issues and a man-hunt is on for the missing cult-leader."_

Brett shakes his head and smacks the conference table with his hand. "Goddammit."

Raylan can't speak. He clenches and unclenches his fists at his side and pictures Haley and Lena huddled together in the courtroom downstairs just a few short weeks ago. He tries not to picture their lifeless bodies in the desert. Taylor. Shit. He hopes that wherever the FBI has her stashed she can't see the news.

Dan's cell phone goes off and he leaves the room to answer. Linda turns to Brett and Raylan. "Obviously, Reeve is a federal fugitive now with several warrants out for his arrest." She smirks. "Guess who wants our help?"

"Fuck 'em," Brett snarls. "They made this mess, let them clean it up."

"I want in. I wanna get the bastard," Raylan says.

"I figured as much," Linda says. "I'm putting you and Brett back on the case, but you'll follow _my_ directions and play nice with the FBI, understood?"

Brett scowls. "Alright." Under his breath he mutters, "_Assholes."_

Raylan looks her in the eye. He knows she's giving him another chance to be a team player. If that's what it takes for him to be there and get this guy, then that's what he's gonna do. "Absolutely." He nods. "Thanks, Linda."

Dan comes back in, smiling and shaking his head. Linda grins at him as if she's in on some joke. "I take it congratulations are in order."

Brett and Raylan stare at Dan.

"Gentlemen, you're looking at the new Chief Deputy of the Miami Marshal's office." He smiles even wider and accepts their handshakes. "I start in two weeks."

Linda sighs. "I wish there was time for us to celebrate, but you two need to get to the FBI briefing." Linda gathers some folders from the desk and passes one to Brett. "It's ten now, the briefing is at noon in Provo. They may want you to leave immediately for Mexico. That's where they think Reeve is headed. I'd pack a bag if I were you."

"I'll go grab my stuff," Brett says to Raylan. "We can swing by your place on the way out of town."

"I'll go tell Winona. Call my cell when you get back and we'll head out."

"Thirty minutes, tops," Brett promises.

Linda pauses in the doorway. "Watch out for each other." She glances at the picture of Chuck newly hanging on the wall of the conference room. "Get that bastard."


	84. Chapter 84

"Mexico?" Winona clutches a stack of files to her chest and shakes her head as they walk down the hall. "Are you even allowed to do that?"

"We can chase a federal fugitive - that's what Reeve is now - anywhere in the world. You know that."

"I guess I never really thought about it." She stops and shifts the files to one hand as she unlocks her office door with the other. Tossing the files and keys on the desk she turns around. "Are you sure Haley and her mom are..." She watches his face and stops, brushing a loose strand of hair behind one ear and taking a step toward him. "I'm sorry, Raylan."

"Yeah, me, too. " He sighs and takes off the hat, restlessly shifting it from one hand to the other. "Brett went home to get some things. He's gonna swing back by and pick me up, take me to the apartment to pack, and then we'll get goin'."

Now it's her turn to sigh. "I know better than to ask when you'll be back."

He lowers his head, one hand on his hip. "As soon as I can. As soon as we get him, or the Mexican authorities do."

She glances at the clock. "Why don't I run you home and Brett can just pick you up there."

"You got time?"

"I'll take an early lunch." She comes in close and he puts his arms around her, resting his chin on top of her head. "It'll give us a little time together before you go."

"Alright, let's go then." He punches Brett's number into the phone and lets him know about the change in plans.

At the apartment he tosses the few things he'll need into a duffel and looks around the bedroom to make sure he isn't forgetting anything. Winona comes out of the bathroom and leans in doorway. Smiling, she plays with the buttons on her blouse, giving him an eyeful of the black lace bra she's wearing.

"Brett'll be here soon."

"Uh huh," she says. "I know." She gives him a little shove and he tosses the duffel on the floor and sits on the bed. She lifts her skirt and fits herself on his lap.

He puts one hand on her waist to steady her. He slides it down her hips, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You don't' seem to be wearin' any panties. I sure hope you didn't go to work that way this mornin'."

She smiles back at him and reaches between them to slide down the zipper of his jeans and draw him out.

"Winona I don't think we have enough time to..."

"Then you'd better be quick, Cowboy," she murmurs, leaning in. "Who knows how long you'll be gone? You can at least give me a proper good-bye."

"Well, when you put it that way..." He fists a hand into her hair and pulls her mouth to his.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Raylan shifts in the uncomfortable chair and looks around the room. There are six FBI agents; three he knows from the explosion at the warehouse: Tim Roush, who's running the meeting, Mike Collins, and Ronald Eastman. There's a woman, who hasn't been introduced, and two Hispanic-looking agents identified as Ruben Morales and Seve Cruse.

Roush introduces Raylan and Brett to the others. "We're gratified that the Marshals are going to work with us on this. They know the case and they'll be a great asset."

Brett leans over and whispers; "_That's _a load of bullcrap."

"Maybe he's realized our value."

Brett gives a dismissive snort and folds his arms over his chest.

"Morales, you'll be goin' with Givens and Larson. From what I've been told, Larson knows some conversational Spanish. How about you, Givens?"

"Not much," Raylan admits.

"Alright," Roush says. "Stick together and leave the talking to Morales whenever possible." He turns to the dark-haired woman sitting at the long table. "This is Gabrielle Turner. She's been inside Reeves operation and she's going to fill us in on some of his methods." He steps back from the makeshift podium and gestures toward her.

Raylan notes that she doesn't thank Roush, or take his offered hand. He likes her already.


	85. Chapter 85

_A/N Again I must apologize to those of you who have been reading faithfully. This time a hectic couple of weeks at work, vacation with unreliable internet, and the end of season 3 of 'Justified' made this a long time coming. More soon, I promise. It's still my happy place._

Agent Turner sets her notes in front of her and stares at them for a minute before she lifts her head and looks out at all of them. Her face is drawn and tired and when she begins to speak, her voice is so low that Raylan can barely hear it.

"Since Waco..." She shakes her head. "...maybe since Ruby Ridge...Federal Law enforcement has been under a microscope. We're asked to defend every decision, every move we make, avoid use of force, and if we do use force, first we're supposed to imagine all the possible outcomes, factoring in all the evidence, substantiated or not, and if we do something wrong..."

Roush is staring at her. He's making an effort to look casual, but this is obviously not what he was expecting.

"If we do something wrong," she continues, "We'd better have a damn good scapegoat. After all, failure has to be _someone's _fault." She's looking straight at Roush now. "I have no doubt as to who's going to be the scapegoat here. That's supposed to be _my_ job. I'm supposed to stand up here and tell you all that I didn't see this coming...that I didn't report to my _superiors _that this is exactly what would happen if they pressured..."

Roush is on his feet. "That's enough, Agent Turner..." He reaches out and sets a hand on her arm, but she jerks it away.

"Get your hands off me." It's a hiss not a yell, but the look on her face makes Roush take a step back.

When she turns back to the crowd, it seems to Raylan that she's focusing on him and Brett, maybe because they stand out in the room of dark suits and red or blue ties, maybe because Brett's Marshal's star is showing on his belt, maybe because Raylan himself can't help nodding in encouragement.

She goes on, her voice breaking. "I spent four months in that compound. Four months getting to know those women and their children. Four months listening, risking discovery to snoop on Reeve's meetings, passing all the information on and what do you do with it? _Nothing. _And now they're dead and you want me to stand up here and say **_I _**never saw it coming? Go fuck yourselves."

She throws her notes at Roush and stomps out the door. "Gabby!" Mike Collins calls. "Wait!" Rising from his seat he pushes past the others and trails her out into the parking lot. Leaning back in his chair, Raylan watches out the window. Gabby is pacing, waving her hands in the air, short dark curls bouncing around her face. She's obviously giving Collins an earful. After a few minutes, he stops her with a fatherly hand on her shoulder and her head drops into her hands as her shoulders start to shake.

Brett cranes his neck to see past Raylan. "What're you looking at?" He asks. "Oh. Bet I know what you're thinking."

Raylan nods at him. "We need to talk to her."

"And soon." Brett agrees.

-o-o-O-o-o-

"So you aren't leaving for Mexico until tomorrow?" Winona cups the phone under her chin and opens the dishwasher, puts the plate and fork in and picks up her wine glass from the counter.

"No, more meetings tomorrow morning...hopefully one with the agent who was undercover in Reeve's compound, then we'll leave sometime in the afternoon." She hears the rustle of paper. He's probably looking over his notes. "How was your day?"

"Long. Boring." She sighs and takes a long sip of her wine. "I had a deposition. It was for a real estate case. God, I hate real estate. Could anything be more boring?"

Raylan laughs. "Every real estate agent I've ever met was an asshole."

"Me, too," she agrees. "I miss you."

There's silence and then a sigh. "Winona..."

"I didn't mean it that way." She shifts the phone to the other ear. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty." More silence. "If you don't feel like talking..."

The paper rustles again, and she can hear Brett's voice. "No, no, I wanna talk to you."

"Is Brett talking to Trina?"

Raylan laughs. "Right now from the conversation, I'd say he's talkin' to Walt." There's a beat. "I miss you, too."

"Good."

"Good, huh?"

"Yeah. The more you miss me the more fun it'll be when you get home."

"Hey now, we had some fun before I left."

"Um hmm," she says. "I remember."

"Good," he says. "Hey, speaking of real estate, the lease is almost up on the apartment. Why don't you look though the ads and if you see anything you like we can go lookin' when I get back."

"Looking at houses?" She says. "Really?" They haven't talked about a house since the fiasco with the credit cards, but those are paid off and her job seems secure again. She'd thought about mentioning it, but she's pleased he's been thinking about it too.

"Why not? Things have settled down at the office. I think the odds of them movin' us are pretty slim...it'll be a good investment."

"If you were here right now..." she starts.

"If I was there right now we wouldn't be talkin'."

She laughs. "I love you."

"I love you, too. I'll call when I can. G'night now."

"Goodnight, Cowboy."


	86. Chapter 86

Raylan's dozing on top of the covers when a sharp rap at the door rouses him. The bathroom door is shut and the sound of water lets him know Brett is in the shower. He pulls on a shirt and walks to the door. Holding one eye to the peephole, he sees Agent Collins is standing in the hall, hand raised to knock again.

"Just a minute," Raylan says. He goes to the bathroom and cracks the door, letting Brett know the other agent is there. Then he opens the door to the hall.

"Sorry if I woke you." Collins glances around the room. "I was hoping to talk to both you and Marshal Larson.

"He's in the shower. He'll be out in a sec." Raylan pulls a Coke from the mini-fridge. "You want somethin' to drink? I hear it's on the FBI's tab." He grins.

Mike Collins laughs. "In that case, yeah, I'll have one." He pulls the cap and takes a swig. "At this point I'd like to make 'em pay for a case of Dom Perignon." He grimaces.

"I doubt that'd get past the pencil pushers."

"You're probably right, but with all the bureaucratic bullshit, who knows? Maybe we'd get lucky."

Brett comes out of the bathroom in gym shorts and a t-shirt, his hair damp from the shower. "Agent." He offers a hand to Collins. "Sorry about that."

"No problem. I got nowhere to go but another room like this one." He sighs. "Wish I could say the same for Gabby."

Raylan shoots Brett a look. "We were hopin' to talk to her."

Collins closes his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I figured that. Unfortunately..."

"They've already shipped her back to D.C., haven't they?" Brett says. He snorts. "Assholes."

"Barely gave her time to pack her things. Practically put her in cuffs." Collins clenches a fist and Raylan can tell he's fuming.

"Debriefing?"

The black man shrugs. "That's what they said. I asked to accompany her, but since I'm not her FLEOA rep or her partner, they politely declined my offer." He tugs at his tie, pulling it off and stuffing it into his pocket.

"She gonna need her rep?" Brett runs a hand through his hair. "Seems a little extreme for an emotional outburst."

"Well, Roush isn't happy, that's for sure."

"How long've you known Gabby?"

"Since she came to the Bureau. She was assigned to my partner for mentoring, but he got sick, so I stepped in. We've stayed in touch, even when she moved into undercover work."

Raylan sat on the edge of the bed. "So, you'd have her cell phone number?"

"Ye-ah...but..."

Brett nods. "They told you not to have any contact with her, right?"

It's Collins turn to nod. "I was gonna have my wife call her – she knows Gabby real well, too – just haven't had a chance to call Lydia and ask her."

"What if you gave _us _her number?" Raylan suggests. "No one told me or Brett not to talk to her."

"That's true." Roush says. "Still, I probably shouldn't."

"We're not gonna tell anyone where we got it."

"I'm not worried about that...oh, what the hell." He pulls out his phone, hits a button, and rattles off a number. Brett writes it down.

Raylan glances at his watch. "If they've already left, she should be in D.C. by ten or eleven our time. Do you think they'll let her go home, or take her straight to debriefing?"

"They're probably debriefing her on the plane," Brett says. "Dammit. We should've left when you did and tried to talk to her then."

"I wish you had," Collins admits. "Although, Roush would've made a stink about it. They probably would've just sent you both back to Salt Lake and stopped working with the Marshals on this and that wouldn't have made your boss very happy."

"Right now, I don't care." Brett smacks a hand down on the dresser. "Dammit!"

Collins pulls a card from his pocket. "There's someone else you might want to talk to."

"Yeah? Who?"

"Kevin Marovich."

"Kevin Marovich? Who's he?"

"That name is familiar," Brett says.

Collins nods. "It should be if you watch much news. He's an investigative reporter for KTVX in Salt Lake. He's been after Reeve for a long time."

Raylan stares at Brett. "Why didn't we talk to him before?"

"Chuck had a real problem with these guys." Brett sighs. "He didn't trust 'em. Thought they were just sittin' around waiting for us to make a mistake so they could splash it all over the news."

Even with that information, it still surprises Raylan that Chuck would ignore a possible source of information on a case this important. Maybe Linda would feel differently. He hopes so. "We definitely need to talk to this guy."

"Should we call and run it by Linda?" Brett asks.

"Forgiveness is easier to get than permission," Raylan says. "How can we reach him?"

"You don't have to go very far," Collins says. "He's stayin' right here in this hotel."


	87. Chapter 87

Winona fishes her planner out of her purse and looks through it while she waits for Trina. She called a few minutes ago to say the babysitter was late and she was stuck in traffic. The restaurant is starting to fill up with the Friday night crowd and the waitress is brisk and efficient when she sets Winona's wine in front of her. "Thanks," she says, distracted. She flips back to last month's calendar and looks at her notes then back to this month, doing the calculations in her head. That _can't_ be right. She counts the days again. Oh, _Shit._

-o-o-O-o-o-

"So you think Reeve is in Zihuatanejo?" Raylan says.

Kevin Marovich sets the beer down on the bar, laughing. "Ze-wa- da-NAY-ho," he says, correcting Raylan's pronunciation. "Yes." He slides a blurry black and white photo across the bar. "This man," he points. "Is Enrico Salazar. He's a mid-level drug runner with the Sinaloa cartel. I think Reeve was helping them establish a new route through Arizona."

"In exchange for what?" Brett interjects. "Mormons, even extreme ones like Reeve, generally aren't associated with drug-running."

The reporter shrugs. "I think Salazar's got his own little side-business going on in human trafficking."

"Human trafficking?" Raylan raises an eyebrow. "We talkin' smugglin' illegals in, or worse?"

"Worse." Marovich pulls another photo out of the leather folder he brought with him. It shows a girl, maybe twelve or so, dressed very simply in what looks like a school uniform. "Marta looks like she's going off to school, but she's actually a maid-slash-nanny-slash-God-knows-what-else for a family in Salt Lake."

"She's illegal?"

"Of course."

"And underage," Brett says. "So she doesn't know anyone, doesn't know the language..."

"She has nowhere to go and no one to talk to who would believe her story." Kevin shakes his head. "Her parents thought they were sending her to a better life in America. They probably _paid_ Salazar to take her. And I doubt she's the only one."

"Sonofabitch," Raylan says. "This just gets better and better." He motions to the bartender for another round. "So how'd you find out about this girl?"

The reporter reaches for his wallet and passes the bartender a twenty, shaking off Raylan's offer to pay. "I got this round." He takes a long swallow from the frost-covered bottle. "A neighbor kept seeing the girl and knew she wasn't going to school...she has a son the same age...when she asked, she was told the girl was adopted and being home-schooled, but she was still suspicious, so she called me."

"Did you take your information to the police?"

"After I investigated a bit, I approached one of the officers I've worked with in the past. Once he heard who the family was, he wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. Said they'd have his job." He drums his fingers on the counter. "Not long after that my station manager called me in and pointed out a clause in my contract about working outside of station guidelines. The threat was implicit and very polite."

"But it was still a threat."

"Absolutely." He nods.

"So you just dropped it?" Brett says, his face reddening. "Is that girl still basically a slave? Who's the family anyway?"

Marovich shrugs. "I'm not going to tell you that and I don't know for certain what's happened to the girl. The neighbor tells me she's gone." He tips the bottle up, draining it. "But she disappeared about the same time Reeve and his folks did...so...if he's working with Salazar..."

"Shit," Raylan says. "Have they identified all of the bodies from the desert yet?"

Brett shakes his head. "Not yet. They're waiting on dental records." He glares at the reporter. "Why won't you tell us who the family is?"

Kevin rubs the back of his neck, sighing. "I can't. They'd know where it came from and the shit would really hit the fan. My boss would be called," He points a finger at them. "...and yours, and by the time it was over I'd be out of a job and you two would be the new marshals in Juneau, Alaska."

Raylan sets the beer down on the bar with a loud clunk. "Who the hell has that much power?"

"You don't want to know, trust me." Marovich says. "I wish I didn't. Listen, if you've got access to e-mail, I'll send you what I've got on Reeve and Salazar. I'm going to see if I can't get the okay to head down to Zihuatanejo to follow up on Reeve. Maybe I'll see you there." He tosses a five on the bar as a tip and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair. "If you guys can get Reeve, maybe he'll give up Salazar to get in good with the Feds...then maybe it'll be a domino effect and the people who had the girl will fall, too. Could we get that lucky?" He holds out his hand and Raylan shakes it.

Brett hands him a napkin with an e-mail address scrawled on it. "We'd appreciate whatever you've got on the link between Reeve and Salazar."

"You'll have it today." He walks away, then turns back. "Remember...Salazar is a wild card and he doesn't have any moral code. Watch out for him."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"You're pregnant?" Trina's eyes are wide over her wine glass. "Are you sure?"

Winona shakes her head, miserable. Her own glass of wine sits untouched on the table between her and Trina. "No, I'm not _sure_...but..."

Trina grabs her purse and starts to slide out of the booth. "Come on then. I know I have a pregnancy test or two at the house from when we were trying for Madeline."

Winona hesitates, chewing on her lip. "Maybe I'm just late. I never was exactly regular, and since I've been on the pill sometimes I even skip."

"Wait," Trina gapes at her. "You're on the pill and you think you're pregnant? I guess nothing is 100% but..."

"I can't understand it either."

"Wait...how late are you?"

"Two weeks."

"What did the doctor give you for that cough you had right before you guys went to Kentucky to see your mom?"

Winona tilts her head, thinking. "Cough syrup and some pills."

"An antibiotic?"

She shrugs. "I guess, why?"

"Because antibiotics can mess with birth control pills." She clicks her tongue, chiding. "Didn't your doctor tell you?"

Winona sighs. "No. I saw the P.A. for about three minutes. The waiting room was full of people with coughs just like mine. I never thought about it." How is she going to tell Raylan? They'd decided no kids for a while. She looks at Trina. "What if he's mad?"

"Raylan?" Trina reaches over and lays a hand on Winona's arm. "If he's upset, he'll get over it...and once he holds that little baby..."

Winona feels the tears coming. God she hates to cry! "But I don't _want_ a baby yet." She swallows hard and swipes at the offending moisture with one hand. "I wanted to be with Raylan a little longer...just us."

"Aww, Honey."Trina squeezes her arm sympathetically. "Let's go take a test. Maybe all this worry is for nothing."

"Okay, maybe you're right." At any rate, it will be better to know. For once, she's thankful Raylan is out of town. If she _is _pregnant, she'll have time to figure out how to break the news.

_A/N Yes, I am going completely and totally AU. *smiles* For those of you who've been reading all along, I hope you'll continue. Once things are wrapped up in Mexico, (which may take awhile) I'm planning a series of short fics in this universe because it makes me happy to think of R&W managing to make it though...who knows where they may end up? Two rocking chairs on a front porch? ;-)_


	88. Chapter 88

"I can't look," Winona moans, covering her face with both hands. "What is it?" She's laid the stick on the counter, and she feels Trina come up behind her.

"It's positive." Trina lays a hand on her shoulder.

Winona looks at her friend, eyes wide. "No!" She shakes her head. "What am I going to do?"

"It'll be alright," Trina says. "Raylan loves you. It'll be fine."

"But I'm not ready...I can't be a mother yet." She can't keep from crying and that just makes her more angry. "I'm not ready," she says again.

Trina laughs. "No one's ever ready. The ones who think they are get a big surprise. At least you're smart enough to know it."

She follows Trina into the comfortable kitchen. They sit at the counter, Winona's chin in her hand. She looks at her friend. "How am I ever going to tell Raylan? How did you tell Brett? Were you trying when you got pregnant with Walt?"

"No, but we weren't trying to prevent it, either." She smiles. "I put the pregnancy test in a Ziploc bag and packed it in his lunch."

"Eww." Winona makes a face. "You peed on that!" Still, she thinks to herself how very like Trina that sounds.

"It was in plastic," Trina says.

"Was he happy?"

Trina shrugs. "He said he was. I think he might have put it off a little longer if it was up to him. But he's a great dad." She lays her hand over Winona's and gives a squeeze. "Raylan will be, too."

"What about me?"

"Oh, sweetie! You'll be a fantastic mother."

Winona shakes her head. "I'm glad you think so."

She's surprised when Trina rises from the stool and wraps her arms around her, hugging Winona fiercely. "It's going to be fine. I'll be right here with you through it all. I promise."

-o-o-O-o-o-  
>Ruban Morales pulls the car up to a gated drive and says something in Spanish into the intercom. It crackles to life and a voice answers back. The gate slides open and he guides the black Explorer through. Brett leans up from the back seat and gives a low whistle as the tiled house and azure ocean beyond come into view. "Who lives here again?"<p>

"Alex Garza," Morales says. He's Salazar's brother-in-law. He has a lot of financial interests in the U.S., so he's played ball with us before. Maybe he can give us a bead on where Salazar is. He may know something about Reeve, too."

As soon as Morales pulls up in front of the house, two short, muscular guys in black suits and sunglasses appear out of nowhere. One stands at Raylan's window, his hand resting on the door, the other taps his knuckle against the driver's window. Morales lowers it. "Like I said, we're here to see Mr. Garza."

The man gives a sharp nod and the doors open simultaneously. The guy on Raylan's side steps back and opens Brett's as well. "Welcome to El Puente."

"The Bridge," Brett whispers as the men turn toward the house and they follow. "Interesting name for an estate."

Morales catches his comment. "Garza works both sides. Not many people can, but he's connected enough that it works for him."

"Quite well, evidently," Raylan observes. He clears his throat as they enter a mosaic tiled courtyard. The tiles reflect the colors of the earth and sea that surround them and form a picture of what look to be mermaids sunning themselves on rocks. It's a stunning work of art, even to his unpracticed eyes.

The men don't lead them through the front door. Instead, they go through a gate in the courtyard wall, emerging onto a back patio that stretches the length of the house. The water is in full view now, the sea breeze a welcome respite from the heat. They can hear giggling and the sound of water splashing. There's another gate and they enter a pool area framed by lush vegetation. Two girls, about five or six are poised on the edge. Another girl is treading water in the center of the pool. Just as the men walk by, the two girls jump, holding their noses and screaming. The water splashes onto the pavement and their shoes.

_"Ninas! In la casa, ahora! _

_"Si, Papa."_ The girls climb dripping from the pool and scurry inside, still giggling.

Raylan follows the voice to a man lounging in a chaise under an umbrella. He's dressed more for an office than poolside, in khaki slacks and a linen jacket with a black t-shirt underneath. Spotting them, he rises in one fluid motion and walks towards them. He reaches Raylan first, holding out his hand. "Alex Garza. And you are?" His English is perfect.

"Deputy U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens."

Brett steps up and more introductions are made. Garza gives Morales a feral smile. "Ruben," he says. He places a hand on the other man's shoulder. "It's been along time. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Morales meets the other man's gaze with a steady one of his own. "We need to talk about Salazar."


	89. Chapter 89

"Will you join me, gentlemen?" Garza says, indicating a cart beside him laden with rolls, fruit, juices, and coffee.

Morales shoots him and Brett a quick look and Raylan gathers that declining would be seen as rude. "Coffee sounds good," he says. Brett asks for coffee also, and takes a plate, choosing some melon and a sweet roll.

Garza claps his hands and a girl in a simple uniform appears. She looks to be around fifteen, maybe younger. Brett nudges him, raising an eyebrow but Raylan shakes his head. The girl appears to be well taken care of and child labor laws are likely much different here in Mexico. She pours and hands out coffee to each of them without meeting their eyes, leaving as silently as she came.

The seating arrangement on the patio is situated to take full advantage of the ocean breeze. Garza moves to a table and gestures to the other chairs. "Have a seat. Now..." He focuses his dark eyes on Morales. "Tell me. What is it you need to know about Enrico?"

Morales sips the coffee and takes his time answering. Raylan can feel Brett's impatience, but he likes the FBI agent's approach and makes note of it. Morales sets his cup down. "We'd just like to ask him a few questions. Do you know where he might be?"

Garza shrugs. "No, but my wife might, perhaps. He's her brother. She talks to him more than I do."

"Would it be possible to speak with her?" Morales asks. "If you don't mind, of course."

"Of course." The Mexican pulls out a cell-phone from the pocket of his jacket and punches a number. " Nita. _¿Puedes venir aquí un momento? Hay algunos señores que están preguntando por su hermano_." There's a pause. "_Si. Gracias_." He glances up at them, tucking the phone back in his pocket. "She'll be down in a moment."

"We appreciate it," Raylan says. "Any information she can give us would be a help."

Garza cocks his head. "Your accent...you are from the American South, no?"

"Kentucky," Raylan says. It's hardly the deep south, but he doesn't argue.

"Ahh." Garza crosses one leg over the other and leans back in his chair. "I know of Kentucky. Home of the famous Kentucky Derby horse race. I have a friend up in Baja, your California, who raises horses. It is his dream to race there one day. Have you ever been?"

"No, I haven't. I left Kentucky a long time ago."

"Still, home and family stay with you, do they not?"

Raylan doesn't answer. He wonders if there's a warning in the man's words. Salazar, after all, is family. The conversation stalls. The men drink their coffee and look out at the view. The ocean is flat as glass and so blue that the line between earth and sky is difficult to discern. It's a beautiful place. Maybe he should bring Winona here for a real honeymoon. They'd passed a row of elegant hotels lining the beach as they drove out to Garza's. He makes a mental note to check their prices, and to call Winona later. He forgot this morning in their rush to get here and he's surprised she hasn't called him.

His thoughts are interrupted by a sharp kick to his shin. His head swivels to Brett whose eyes are fixed on the French doors leading out from the house. Raylan follows his gaze and watches as Alex Garza's wife walks out onto the patio followed by a young girl carrying a baby. Raylan swallows hard and hopes he manages to keep the shock from his face. The girl is Haley Matthews.

-o-o-O-o-o-

Trina hangs up the phone. "She can see you on Tuesday at four, so you won't have to miss work, just leave a little early." She goes to the refrigerator, takes something out from under one of the colorful cartoon magnets and hands Winona a card. "I can meet you there, if you want. But I'm sure you'll like Kathy." She grabs a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator and pours two glasses.

Pulling a stool up to the bar she sits down across from Winona and slides a glass across to her. "You want sugar?"

"Please." Winona looks at the card. _Kathy Endicott, OBGYN _is printed in simple block lettering with an address and phone number. Underneath are the words _Kindness, Comfort, Respect. _

"She's a great doctor," Trina says. "Anyone else might have rushed things and done a c-section with Walt when my labor went long, but we'd talked about it beforehand and she knew I didn't want one unless it was absolutely necessary. She stayed there all night and got me through it."

Winona closes her eyes and makes a strangled sound. "Oh, _God_. I've been so worried about telling Raylan I haven't even thought about actually _having _the baby." She blinks hard and stares at Trina. "What's it like?"

Trina puts her elbow on the counter and cups her chin in one hand. "It's hard to describe. I mean, you know it hurts...a lot..." she laughs. "And I know how unbelievable this sounds...but really...when they put that baby in your arms you just kind of forget about the pain. Honestly, the first few weeks at home with the baby are harder than labor. At least they were for me." She takes one look at Winona's face and reaches for her hand. "But don't worry...I had my mom, and you'll have me. Heck, probably my mom, too," she adds. "She loves babies."

"I'm going to have a baby," Winona says, soft. "Raylan's baby."

"Yep." Trina grins at her and for the first time since she shared the news with her friend, Winona smiles back


	90. Chapter 90

Haley's head is bent to the baby nestled on her shoulder but when Garza's wife says something in Spanish she looks up to answer. Her eyes widen when she spots Raylan. He coughs into his fist and gives a quick shake of his head. "Excuse me," he says to their host. "Do you have a bathroom I could use?"

"Certainly," Garza says. "Through those doors and to your right." Raylan tips his hat as he passes Garza's wife. "Ma'am," he says. He gives Haley a wink and a smile and gets a weak smile in return. He enters the house, moves away from the door and waits a few minutes before wandering out again. "I can't seem to find it," he says, trying to look sheepish. "Could someone show me?"

"Si," Nita Garza says. She holds out her arms for the baby and Haley hands the boy over. Raylan wonders for a moment if she speaks English, but then she turns back to Haley. "Show this gentleman the bathroom and then check on the girls, _por favor_."

"Yes, Ma'am," Haley says. She moves toward the house, not raising her eyes to Raylan, and walks back through the French doors into the kitchen. He follows, waiting until she turns down a narrow hallway to reach out and touch her shoulder. She whirls around, burying her face against his shirt and hugging him fiercely. "How did you find me? Where's my mom? Where's Taylor? Are you going to take me home?" The words come out in a jumble and he feels her shoulders heave under his hands. Tears dampen his shirt.

"Hey, now...hey." He strokes her hair. "It's all gonna be fine, but we need to find out how much the Garzas know about all this before we let on that we know you." He tips her chin up and looks into her eyes. "I won't leave you here. If I do have to leave today, we'll come back for you, I promise." On an impulse, he slips his cell phone out of his pocket and gives it to her. "Keep this. If you need us punch in a 3. That's Brett's number on speed dial. Keep it on vibrate." He pushes the button on the side to silence the phone. "If I call you, his name will come up. Otherwise, don't answer it or try to call anyone else, okay? There's enough charge to last until tomorrow, and hopefully you'll be safe with us before then."

Haley nods and slides the phone into her pocket, wiping the tears off her face with the back of her hand. She squares her shoulders. "You didn't answer me. Where's Mom and Taylor?"

"Taylor is safe," he says. "When we get you out of here I'll make sure you can talk to her first thing."

"What about Mom?" She studies his face. "Don't lie to me. I'll know if you're lying." Her mouth puckers and she blinks back more tears. "Grown-ups are lousy liars."

"I don't know where your mom is." It isn't a lie, not really. Until they get the dental records to identify the bodies, there's no way of knowing who perished in the desert. Until a few minutes ago he'd thought Haley was one of them. Lena might still be alive. "When was the last time you saw her?"

Footsteps sound in the kitchen and Raylan pushes Haley down the hall. "Go!" He hisses. "Keep the phone and I'll call you." She nods and hurries off and he ducks into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click. He waits a moment, then opens it and walks back out. Brett is leaning against the wall.

"You talk to her?"

"Yeah, I was, but then we heard you and I sent her away. What're you doin' in here?"

"I told Garza you weren't feeling well and I wanted to check on you."

"Everything all right, Marshals?" Garza appears in the doorway. He's shed the jacket and sunglasses. He's smiling at them, but his eyes are dark and suspicious.

Raylan rubs a hand across his mouth. "Fine. I musta eaten something that didn't agree with me."

"Can I get you anything?" Garza sweeps a hand toward the kitchen. "Some seltzer, perhaps?"

"Sure, thanks."

Instead of calling for a servant, Garza takes a bottle from a bottom cupboard and pours the glass himself. "I'm sorry you are not feeling well. Some of our cuisine isn't for everyone," he says. "And I'm afraid most of the local hotels aren't always careful about cleanliness. Not like in your country."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Raylan says. He sips the seltzer and looks around the spotless kitchen. "You've got quite a place here."

Brett picks up on his clue. "It must take a lot of help to keep it running smooth."

"It does," Garza nods. "That's Nita's - my wife's - territory. She manages the household, hires the servants. We have about ten staff, mostly locals who go to their own homes at night. Only the nanny and the new girl you saw on the patio live here. And the guards, of course."

"The new girl, she's not Mexican." Raylan observes.

"No, a tragedy, I'm afraid." Garza's eyes soften. "She lived here with her parents until they were killed in a car accident not long ago. She had nowhere to go."

"No American relatives?"

"Evidently not, Nita said they couldn't be found. Maybe she wanted to stay here." Garza shrugs. "She is more of a house-guest than a servant, but she is good with the small ones, so she helps our nanny."

Raylan sets the glass down on the counter. "Maybe we could help her. Do you know how your wife heard about her?"

"From her brother, I assume. He's the one who brought her to our attention, and his wife, Cecilia, dropped her off."

"What about the U.S. Consulate?" Brett suggests. "Maybe they could find her relatives?"

Garza purses his lips. "I assume Enrico went through the usual channels. He told my wife the girl has no one."

"You wouldn't mind us checking on her then?" Raylan pulls out a pen and Brett hands him a note pad. "What did you say her name was?"

"My wife calls her Anna. I don't know her last name. As I said, she takes care of the affairs of the household. You'd have to ask her."

"Let's do that," Brett says.

Brett starts to walk back out to the patio but the Mexican holds up a hand, signaling for him to stop. "Why are you so interested in this girl?"

Raylan takes a different tactic. "There are a lot of missing kids in the states," he says. "Maybe the people she was here in Mexico with weren't really her parents. Maybe someone is looking for her right now. The only way to know for sure is for us to ask her, and your wife, some questions." He remembers the little girls playing in the pool when they arrived. "If it was one of your daughters who was lost...wouldn't you want someone to take an interest?"

Garza eyes him. "Do you have children, Marshal?"

"I do," Brett says. "A son and a daughter."

Alex Garza seems to be considering something, then he picks up a phone hanging on the wall beside the refrigerator and pushes a number. "Send Anna out to the pool, please," he says to whomever answers. "Gentlemen." He holds the door open and they all return to the patio.

_A/N Sorry this update was so long coming. Real life has a way of rearing its head now and then, in good and bad ways. Hopefully the next update will be quicker to arrive. Thanks for continuing to read this apparently endless saga._


	91. Chapter 91

Raylan looks over his shoulder at Haley, asleep on the third seat of the Explorer, her head resting against the window. The road is bumpy, and he can't imagine it's a comfortable position, but evidently she's either completely worn out from the morning's events or finally able to relax with people she trusts. At his urging, she'd answered all of the questions Garza and Ruben Morales fired at her. Garza seemed genuinely surprised at her identity, but Raylan wasn't so sure it was a shock to Señora Garza.

He releases the seat belt and leans forward to talk to Brett in the front passenger seat."You think the wife knows more than Garza?"

"Salazar is_ her_ brother," Brett reminds them.

"Garza was caught off guard, that's for sure," Morales says. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel and meets Raylan's eyes in the rear view. "How's the girl doing back there?"

"She was asleep by the time we pulled out of the driveway," Raylan says.

"Good. I called ahead. They're sending a female agent down from San Diego. She'll meet us at the motel and stay with Haley. We can get a call through to Taylor for her, too. I know she's anxious to talk to her sister. I'm going to meet up with a contact from the police department here in town and ask some questions about Señora Garza and Salazar. I'll see what I can find out."

"What do you want us to do?"

"Take a break. Get some rest, check in with your boss and your wives and we'll get together when I get back."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona pushes open the door to the office with her hip and deposits the stack of flies she's carrying on the corner of the desk with a sigh. Sitting down, she kicks her shoes off and rubs her foot with one hand. All her clothes, even her shoes, seem tight but the scale assures her she hasn't gained a pound. Trina just laughed when she complained and told her not to worry, the scale would start moving soon enough. She'd insisted on loaning Winona that book, _What to Expect When You're Expecting. _She said it would answer her questions,but so far it's scarier than anything by Stephen King. Winona isn't looking forward to swollen ankles, a puffy face, stretch marks, or least of all hemorrhoids. Ick. What concerns her even more is how this unexpected pregnancy is going to change things with Raylan.

She picks up her cell phone, clicking through the missed calls. Trina. The library - she has an overdue book again – but nothing from Raylan. She fell asleep on the couch last night and by the time she woke up it was too late to call him. It's been almost three days since they talked. She swallows the lump of worry in her throat and reaches for the can of root beer she grabbed from the pop machine, taking several long swallows. Hopefully it will settle her stomach. Trina says it's too early for morning sickness, but Winona's stomach begs to differ.

She leans back in the chair and picks up the top file off the stack. She might as well get busy with these transcripts while she has an hour or so. It's her lunch hour, but even though she didn't eat anything but toast for breakfast she's not hungry. She takes another sip of the pop, opens the file, and gets to work. Ten minutes later her stomach rejects the root beer. She barely makes it to the restroom in time. Back in the office she digs Trina's book out of her gym bag and turns to the index running her finger down the page until she finds what she's looking for.

-o-o-O-o-o-

They leave Haley in her room already talking excitedly on the phone to her sister with the FBI agent close at hand. Morales has gone to his meeting. The call to Linda is brief. She's happy to hear about Haley, but with the office short two marshals and breaking in Dan's replacement, she has her hands full. Brett signs off, promising her they'll try to wrap things up and get back as soon as they can. Raylan tries Winona's phone but there's no answer. He turns on the television. Soccer. He groans. He switches the channel, but everything else is in Spanish, even CNN, so the two marshals decide to grab an early lunch at a small cantina near the motel. After the waitress takes their order, Raylan glances at his watch.

"I'm gonna give Winona another call. Maybe I can catch her. It should be about time for her lunch hour."

"Alright," Brett says. "I should probably call Trina, too. Who knows when we'll get another chance?" He starts to get up, but Raylan waves him back.

"You stay here, I'll go outside." He leans on one of the posts in front and pulls out his cell phone, punching in Winona's number. She answers on the second ring.

"Raylan?"

"Hey," he says, surprised at how happy it makes him just to hear her voice.

There's a breath of air in the phone. "I was worried."

"I know. I'm sorry. We've been running all over the place. Things have been happening fast." His words come out in a rush. "We found Haley." He can't believe he almost forgot the most important thing.

"Haley? She's alive? What about the bodies in the desert?"

"Well, she ain't one of 'em."

"Thank God," Winona says. "She's alright?"

"Yeah, she's okay. It doesn't look good for her mama though."

"Oh, Raylan, I'm sorry," she sniffles.

"Aww, don't cry, Haley will be fine. She's a smart girl."

Winona sighs. "Um..."she starts. Another sigh. "When do you think you'll be home?"

He huffs a breath. "I don't know." Truthfully, he'd love to be on the next plane. The Mexican heat is exhausting and the constant background chatter of a language he doesn't understand gives him a headache. He doesn't trust Garza or his wife, despite the fact they let Haley go –what choice did they have really? Salazar is probably in the wind by now, and their hopes of finding Reeve will be gone along with him. He keeps his frustration to himself. It isn't going to help Winona anyway. "I miss you, too," he says. She doesn't respond right away. "Is somethin' wrong?" He shifts the phone to his other ear. "Is it work?"

"No, it's not work." Her voice is small and he can tell she's trying not to cry.

"So somethin' _is _wrong. Is it your mama?"

"No, it's nothing...I mean...there's nothing wrong...I just really miss you. It's been almost a week. I wish you knew when you'd be back."

"I know. So do I. We may have a lead. I'll know more tonight. If I can, I'll call you later."

"Okay," she says. "Don't worry about waking me up, I'd rather talk to you anyway."

"You sleepin' okay?" He spies Brett motioning to him and watches as the waitress sets their food on the table.

"The bed's awfully empty."

"Mine, too," he says. "At least you don't have to put up with Brett's snorin'."

Winona laughs.

"Look, I gotta go. I'll call tonight if I possibly can, but if you don't hear from me, don't worry. It just means we're following up on a lead."

"Okay," she takes a deep breath. "I love you, Raylan."

"Love you, too." He clicks off, staring at the phone for a minute before sliding it into his pocket. Something's going on with her and he wishes to hell he knew what it was. Time to get this thing over with and get home.


	92. Chapter 92

"Boy, am I glad you're here," Morales says when Brett and Raylan get out of the car back at the motel.

"What's up?" Brett tugs at his shirt where it's stretched across his stomach. "Whew. I ate too much."

"I told you not to eat that second burrito," Raylan laughs as he shuts the door and slides the hat back on.

"It's Haley," Morales walks rapidly toward the room where they left the girl with the FBI agent. "She's locked herself in the bathroom and says she won't talk to anyone but you." He hooks a thumb at Raylan. "We could bust the door down, but I think she's been through enough."

"What's the matter?"

Morales pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "Evidently, Agent Nelson left the room to get a pop. Pop machine is right there." He points.

"How could she be so stupid?" Brett huffs.

"She had her eye on the room the whole time, thinking the only trouble would be Haley coming out or someone else going in. But, she left her laptop open and Haley did a search for Reeve. What do you think popped up?"

"Oh, God," Raylan murmurs. "The bodies in the desert."

"That's what was on the screen when Cathy –Agent Neslon - came back into the room. And Haley had locked herself in the bathroom." He pushes the door open, then turns back to Brett and Raylan. "Listen, I already chewed her out. She feels terrible and she knows I have to report it to Washington. Just go easy on her, okay?"

Brett snorts and Raylan rolls his eyes. "It's an FBI matter, not one for the U.S. Marshals," Morales says, his voice stern. "Leave it be. Please."

They both nod and he opens the door. Cathy Nelson is sitting on the bed, hands folded in her lap. When she looks up, her face colors with embarrassment. "I can't believe I left my computer on. I am _so_ sorry." She shakes her head. "That poor girl to find out that way."

Raylan holds up a hand. "Save it." He raps his knuckles on the door. "Haley, you in there? It's Deputy Givens."

There's a shuffling sound.

"Haley?"

"You can come in," she sniffles. "Just you, okay?"

Raylan eyes Morales, who nods. "Okay, I'm comin' in alone."

Haley looks tiny and very alone perched on the edge of the tub. She raises her head as he comes in. "Why didn't you tell me my mom is dead?" A tear rolls down her cheek and she swipes it away without taking her eyes from his face.

"Because we don't know that she is."

Haley shakes her head. "Those people in the desert...she's one of them, isn't she? You can tell me the truth. I know it already."

Raylan takes the hat off and puts the lid down on the stool, sitting so they're on the same level and he can look the girl in the eyes. "We don't know that for sure. The FBI is working hard to identify them, but it's gonna take awhile."

She swallows. "Because they were burned up?"

He fingers the brim of the hat, dropping his head. "Yeah."

"They have to get dental records, right?"

"That's usually how it's done."

Haley sniffs again. "Mom had lots of cavities. They didn't have money for dentists when she was a kid. She always made Taylor and I brush our teeth twice a day and she made sure we got check-ups. She could be a real pain." The corner of her mouth turns up and she kicks out at the cabinet with one foot. "But Taylor doesn't have any cavities and I just have one."

"So it worked then," Raylan says. "I'm like your mom. I've got quite a few."

"Didn't your mom make you brush your teeth?"

"She tried." He grins at her.

She gives him a weak smile in return, but it fades quickly. "She's one of them. I can feel it."

She doesn't sound like a child, and Raylan can't bring himself to treat her like one. "It looks like it," he says. "But, there's always a chance. We thought you were out there, too." He gives her a moment to absorb that.

She dips her head, hair falling into her face. "I want to see my sister."

"I'm sure you do. You talked to her, right?"

"It's not the same. I wanna go home. When can we go?"

It amazes him how quickly her maturity vanishes and she's a child again. "You mean you're ready to come out of the bathroom?"

She shrugs. "I guess."

He raises an eyebrow. "Well, I can tell you from experience that tubs aren't all that comfortable to sleep in."

"You slept in a tub?"

"It's a long story." Raylan pushes to his feet and holds a hand out to Haley. "Ready?"

She nods.

"No one's mad at you, Haley. I don't blame you for trying to find out what happened to your mama."

Three pairs of eyes slide to he and Haley when he pushes the door open.

Morales is on his phone, when he clicks it shut he turns to Haley. "Agent Nelson is going to accompany you back to the U.S., then we'll get you to your sister. We'll make more permanent arrangements later."

Haley takes a step back. "I want Deputy Givens to take me back." She looks from Agent Nelson to Morales. "Please?"

The FBI agent sighs. "I don't know, Taylor."

"Please?" She says again.

"I'll see what I can do. That alright with you, Marshal?" The FBI agent asks.

"That's fine."

"Alright then, let me make some calls."

-o-o-O-o-o-

Winona sets the phone down, heart pounding. Raylan's coming home. She's thrilled and terrified at the same time. She picks the phone back up and punches in Trina's number.

"Wow," Trina says after Winona relays the information Raylan gave her. "So he'll be home tomorrow?"

"Uh huh," she taps her fingers nervously on the counter. "What am I going to do? How do I tell him? What if he's mad?" The questions are nothing new, but the need for answers is more urgent now.

"Too bad you didn't get an ultra sound yet. Then you could just tape the picture to the fridge and wait for him to see it."

"I don't think that would go over well," Winona says.

"You're probably right." Trina sighs. "I don't know, Honey. Brett's a whole different ball game. But Raylan loves you and once he gets over the shock – like you have – he'll be thrilled. I know it."


	93. Chapter 93

It's been a helluva long day. Two flight delays and misinterpreted directions to the drop off place for Haley mean that it's past two a.m. by the time he's finally headed home. Haley is happy though, reunited with her sister. Luckily, the foster family the FBI placed Taylor with was willing to take Haley, too. Both girls hugged him as he left, and he promised to call and check up on them. If the FBI doesn't like that, they can stuff it.

When he pulls into the apartment parking lot Winona's car is angled into the nearest parking spot, almost over the line between the spaces. How many times has he told her that parking that way is asking to get hit? He wishes she'd be more careful. Sighing, he parks and pops the trunk, reaching in for his bag and second gun. He shoulders the bag and stuffs the gun in his jacket pocket as he mounts the steps.

Winona didn't answer her cell phone when he called from the airport. It was a lot later than he'd planned, so he assumes she's given up and gone to bed. He doesn't blame her. She'd sounded pretty tired the last few times they talked.

He knows something is wrong as soon as he turns the key in the lock and his cop sense goes into full alert. It's quiet, but every light in the apartment is on. "Winona?" He calls.

There's no answer. She's not in the kitchen or the living room, and his heart pounds as he makes his way down the hall to the bedroom, one hand instinctively resting on his gun.

"Winona!" He calls again.

She's not in the bedroom, either, but the sheets and blankets are rumpled as if her sleep had been interrupted. He turns, listening. The bathroom door is ajar, but there's no sound of water running. He pushes the door open with one hand. His breath catches in his throat. There's a bloody towel on the floor and more blood on the toilet lid and the edge of the sink. Winona's cellphone is on the vanity, green light flashing with the messages he left earlier. What the hell happened? Where in the world is Winona?

He considers calling 911, but what would he say? He makes himself stop and think. Maybe she had an accident or cut herself. He moves quickly to the kitchen, but there's no telltale knife on the counter or in the sink. He forces down his panic and takes it all in again with the practiced eyes of an investigator. There's no sign of forced entry, the kitchen and living room are neat and undisturbed. Winona's car is in the parking lot, so she didn't leave on her own. Who would she call if she was hurt? He pulls out his phone and pushes in Trina's number.

o-o-O-o-o-

"That was Raylan." Trina slips the phone back into her pocket. She leans in, laying one hand on Winona's. "Did you hear me?"

Winona hears her friend, but keeps her eyes closed and doesn't respond. Maybe if she doesn't think, then this won't be happening.

"I gave her a slight sedative," the doctor says, hanging the clipboard at the end of the bed. "It'll help with the discomfort from the procedure. She can go home in an hour or so if the bleeding isn't severe."

Trina nods. "Her husband is on his way."

"Alright," the harried young woman pulls a card from her pocket. "I'm Dr. Landis. Have the nurse page me if either of them have any questions."

The doctor leaves and Trina sinks into the hard chair next to the bed. She strokes the hair back from Winona's forehead. "I'm so sorry, Honey," she whispers.

"What did you tell him on the phone?" Winona asks without opening her eyes. Poor Raylan. He must've been crazy with worry when he saw the state of the bathroom. The cramping and bleeding came on so quickly she hadn't known what to do. She couldn't have driven herself to the hospital. Thank God for Trina and the neighbor who came to watch Walt and Madeline.

"I didn't tell him much, really. He sounded kind of freaked out so I told him where we were and that you were gonna be okay. He asked what happened and I said I'd let you tell him about it." She squeezes her friend's hand. "He's on his way."

"I heard." Winona pulls her hand away and curls on her side, back to Trina. "What am I going to tell him? He didn't even know there _was _a baby and now there's not."

Trina paces at the end of the bed. "You tell him the truth. You wanted to wait until he got home to talk to him. He'll understand."

"Will he? Because_ I_ don't. Why did this have to happen?" She's crying now and she hates it. She only knew she was pregnant for two weeks. She didn't even really want this baby, not at first anyway, but now it feels like she's lost a part of herself that she'll never get back.

Trina sits back down and lays a hand on Winona's shoulder. "Hey, turn around. Look at me."

She turns, tucking her arms around her middle, miserable.

"It'll be okay," she says. "I know it doesn't seem like it now, but it will. You'll get through this. I did."

"You had a miscarriage?" Trina's always been so open about everything, Winona's shocked that she's never told her.

"About three years ago. Between Walt and Madeline."

"You never mentioned it."

"It never came up." She shrugs. "It's not something I go out of my way to talk about."

"I feel awful," Winona says. She swallows hard. She knows what she's about to say is going to sound ridiculous, but she has to get the words out. "Do you think the baby knew I was upset about being pregnant?"

Trina shakes her head. "No. Honey, if not wanting a baby could cause a miscarriage, there'd be a lot fewer abused and neglected kids out there. Something went wrong. That's all. It's not your fault."

"Did I do something wrong? I mean, I didn't even know I was pregnant, maybe something I ate or..." Something occurs to her. "I drank. When we went out with you all before the guys left. I had what...three margaritas?"

"You didn't know. It wasn't the margaritas." Trina squeezes her hand. "It just happened. Now close your eyes. Try to get some rest before Raylan gets here."

-o-o-O-o-o-

"I'm sorry."

He looks up from the gun parts spread out on the counter. Winona looks like she's about twelve years old, standing there in pink pajamas he's never seen before. "Are you supposed to be out of bed?"

"I woke up and you weren't there," she says. Her eyes take in the glass and half-empty bottle of one of the whiskeys her father sent at Christmas.

"I couldn't sleep and this needed to be done so..." he raises his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

They hadn't gotten home from the hospital until almost five. He'd lain down with her, but once she drifted off he got up. Whiskey at seven in the morning didn't seem odd when he'd been up all night. What's unsettling is coming home from Mexico to all of this. He doesn't know how to comfort her. He can't fix it. She's in mourning for something that he hasn't even wrapped his mind around yet.

"I'm sorry," she says again.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," he tells her. He means it. He understands her waiting, not wanting to tell him she was pregnant over the phone with him so far away. "This isn't your fault. We just got dealt a lousy hand."

She walks toward him and he opens his arms instinctively. Her head nestles against his chest, but he doesn't hold her. She looks up, confused. "Let me finish this and wash my hands," he says, showing her his fingers slick with gun oil. "I'll be just a minute. Why don't you go sit down on the couch?"

"I'll sit here," she says, pulling out a stool. She eases herself down, gingerly, blowing out her breath.

He gazes at her, concerned. "You want one of the pain pills?"

She shakes her head. "Not yet. I should eat something."

"I could eat, too," he says, glad for some sense of normalcy. "Let me finish this and I'll make us some breakfast."

"_You're_ gonna make _me_ breakfast?" She laughs, just a little, and he relishes the sound.

"I'm not helpless." He finishes the cleaning and reassembles the gun quickly. "I should clean yours, too. We need to get you back to the range sometime."

"Um hmm." She says, but her eyes have clouded over again.

The gun back in its holster, he washes his hands and wipes off the counter. He finds frozen waffles in the freezer and heats up the syrup in the microwave as she watches. The coffee maker came on automatically, so he pours them each a cup. There's fruit and juice in the refrigerator and he presents her the plate with a flourish.

"See...not helpless."

"Thanks," she says. The corners of her mouth turn up, but she still looks sad. He watches, taking a bite as she cuts into the waffle with her fork and pushes it around the plate. "I guess I'm just not very hungry."

"You gotta eat something if you're gonna take that medicine." He picks up the bottle. "It says so right here." He points to the words _Take with food. _

"Okay." She takes a bite, then another. "Not bad. At least you didn't burn them like I always do." She finishes one waffle, the other still swimming in the syrup on her plate. "You think that's enough?"

"Yeah, just take the pill with a glass of milk." He gets her some and drops the pill into her palm. She swallows it and slides off the stool.

"When was the last time you slept?"

He thinks. "I can't remember," he says, running a hand through his hair. Suddenly, he's exhausted.

"So come back to bed with me." She takes his hand and pulls him back along the hallway, back to their bed. He sits, pulling off his boots as she crawls under the covers. The jeans and shirt end up in a pile on the floor and he pulls down the shade to shut out the morning sun before he slides in beside her.

He lays on his back, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling. This isn't how he imagined his homecoming, but it's not how she imagined it either. He swallows the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, too," he says. "I'm sorry you had to go through all that alone."

"Trina was there."

"But I wasn't."

"You're here now," she says. "That's what matters." She scoots closer and he puts an arm around her. After a few minutes, they're both asleep.


	94. Chapter 94

She stares at her face in the mirror in the courthouse bathroom and dabs at the tear-streaked mascara with a tissue. _Dammit. _She has to get it together. It's been over three weeks since she lost the baby and she's still crying at the drop of a hat. Poor Raylan doesn't know what to say or do, and to make it worse they haven't had sex since. He's been patient and sweet and caring and she had been planning on rewarding him tonight. She was even starting to get excited about it. Then, just as she was making a couple of last minute copies before heading home, one of the secretaries had to announce her pregnancy to everyone in the office. Thankfully, Winona made it here to the bathroom before anyone could see her tears.

Now she blots at her eyes one last time and straightens her shoulders. "Two months ago a baby was the farthest thing from your mind," she says to her reflection. "You've got to stop this." Tipping her chin up she sucks in a breath. "Go home and make love to your husband."

-o-o-O-o-o-

He comes into the apartment quietly, setting the sack from the Chinese restaurant down and glancing around. The lights are dimmed and there's an open bottle of wine on the counter next to his whiskey glass. He can hear water splashing in the bathroom. He pours himself a shot and makes his way down the hall. The door is ajar and shafts of flickering light cast elongated shadows on the walls. He knocks lightly and when there's no answer, pushes the door all the way open with his free hand.

Winona is in the tub, wineglass in hand. Candles are scattered on the vanity and the windowsill. "Hey, Cowboy." She smiles up at him over the rim of the glass. "You wanna join me?"

He laughs looking down at her, surrounded in bubbles. "I don't think I'd fit."

"Sure you would. I'll just scoot up and you slide in behind me. It'll be nice."

"I brought Chinese like you wanted," he reminds her. "It's gettin' cold."

"We can warm it up," she says. "Later." She bites her lip and raises up a bit so that he can see her breasts just beneath the bubbly water.

The invitation is an unexpected relief. He thought it best to wait for her to initiate, or at least give a sign that she was ready to make love, but for three weeks, there's been nothing. Every little thing seems to make her cry and she's gone to bed early, sound asleep long before he joins her. "You sure?"

Her eyes flick away for a moment, but she nods. "I'm sure."

He tugs the tie loose and unbuttons his shirt, conscious of her gaze on him. "What? You watchin' me undress?"

She widens those blue eyes and takes another sip of wine. "I've undressed for you plenty of times, Cowboy."

"That's different."

"Oh, really?" She raises an eyebrow. "Well, then don't make a display of it, just get those pants off and get in here."

He shucks his jeans and boxers and slips in, holding his drink in one hand, water splashing out onto the floor. Winona giggles and scoots up against him as he sits, tipping her head back for a kiss.

"Hi," she murmurs against his mouth.

"Hi yourself."

"I've missed you."

He sets the glass on the edge of the tub and wraps both arms around her from behind. "I've missed you, too."

She relaxes in his arms, sliding down into the water. Finishing her wine, she sets the glass beside his and presses her backside into him. "I'd say you definitely missed me," she laughs.

"You okay?" He moves her hair to one side and plants a soft kiss at the base of her neck.

"I am now."

They soak for a while in the steamy bathroom, enjoying the closeness they've both missed. "I'm turnin' into a prune here," he says finally, leaning forward and stealing a kiss.

"The water is getting a little cool." She agrees.

Bracing himself on the side of the tub he eases out and rubs himself off with the towel. Grabbing another, he holds it out to her. She steps out of the tub and he dries her thoroughly before pulling her against him. "What do you want to do now?" The corner of her mouth turns up and she arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him. He grins at her and plays dumb. "We could warm up that Chinese."

"I'm not all that hungry yet. What do you say we work up an appetite?"

His answer is to lift her up, covering her mouth with his as he carries her into the bedroom. She tosses aside the towel when he lays her on the bed, opening her arms to him. He's gentle and through, trailing kisses down her neck, across the ridge of her collar bone to her breasts and lower. He rests his head on her hip, sliding his hand between her legs to part them, but she tugs at his hair, halting him.

"Come're," she murmurs.

He looks up, surprised. "You don't want..."

"I just want you."

Their union is slow and tentative at first, but the weeks without her, in Mexico and here at home since the miscarriage, have left him raw with a need that gets the better of him. She answers him in kind, surprising him with her passion. They finish together, spent and sweaty. After catching her breath, she turns on her side, snuggling back against him, and he pulls her close, burying his face in her hair. Moments later he feels her shoulders tremble.

"'Nona? You cryin'? Did I hurt you?"

"No, no." She swipes a hand across her face. "You didn't hurt me. Not at all. I just...I don't know." All the air goes out of her and he rolls her over to face him.

His eyes search her face. "You know," he says, running his tongue under his bottom lip thoughtfully. "If you decided you wanted to try again in a little while, I'd be okay with that."

Her eyes flick to his, then away. "Just okay?" Her voice is small.

He smiles and shakes his head. "Let me get used to the idea."

She settles her head into the curve of his shoulder. "You didn't have much of a chance to do that, did you?"

"No, I wish I had."

"Me, too." She sighs.

-o-o-O-o-o-

As Raylan picks up his glass to take another sip of whiskey, she steals another forkful of Kung Pao chicken from his plate.

"Hey now," he says, playfully slapping her hand. "Eat your own!"

"Yours is better," she giggles.

He picks up his own fork and stabs one of her shrimp. "This isn't bad."

"Trade?"

He chuckles. "Okay. You want more wine?"

She swirls the bit left in her glass. "I'm good."

He eases up from the floor where they've been eating off the coffee table and grabs the remote. The basketball game has ended and he channel surfs looking for something to watch. "Oh, good, _Tombstone_ is on," he says.

"Not again." Winona rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. She starts to get up to clear the empty containers and napkins off the table, but he pats the couch beside him.

"Stay here and watch."

"Oh, alright." She curls up next to him and he slouches down, pushing the debris aside and putting his feet up on the coffee table. He slings one arm around her and tunes in to the action on the screen. The movie is almost over and Winona is asleep when the phone rings.

"Yeah," he says to Trina, 'She's here, but she's sleepin'."

"Not anymore." Winona holds her hand out for the phone. She listens for a minute. "Oh, no!" she says. "That's terrible."

Raylan raises an eyebrow in question.

"Just a minute, Trina." She holds a hand over the phone. "Trina's folks were going to watch the kids when they go on their cruise next week, but now her dad's knee replacement has been moved up and they won't be able to."

"That's too bad," Raylan says. He knows how much Brett's been looking forward to some time alone with his wife.

Winona still has her hand over the phone. "We could watch the kids."

He stares at her. "You gotta be kiddin'. Us?"

"Sure, why not? You said all you've got next week is a prisoner transfer and a bunch of paperwork."

"So far, yeah. But you're workin' during the day."

"They're leaving Saturday morning and coming back Wednesday night. I could take a few days off."

He shrugs. "It's up to you, I guess."

She cocks her head, her gaze steady on him. "It won't work if you aren't on board."

He sighs. He's not sure he's ready for one kid, and he's sure not anxious to spend five days with two. But Brett and Trina deserve this, and Winona's eyes are sparkling with excitement for the first time in weeks. "Okay. Sure. Why not?"

"Trina?" Winona says, her voice bright. "Don't worry about the kids. We'll watch them for you."


	95. Chapter 95

_A/N I apologize for the inexcusably long delay in getting back to this story. I have every intention of wrapping it up in a (hopefully) satisfactory manner soon. For now, though, there's some babysitting to do._

Trina walks around the kitchen, opening up cupboards and pointing items out to Winona.

"Walt likes a banana in his cereal, but Madeline _hates_ bananas. Give her some applesauce or these plums if she'll eat them." She sets a jar of baby food on the counter and rolls her eyes. "They do awful things to her poop though. Lunch is easy...they both love macaroni and cheese or turkey. I've left both in the refrigerator. For dinner, Walt can have whatever you guys eat and there are toddler meals for Maddie." Trina taps a finger against the list magneted to the fridge. "All the numbers you might need are here...doctor, dentist, Walt's preschool, my folks..."

"Trina, aren't you over-doing it?" Brett chides.

"I've never left them before," Trina says.

"We've left them with your folks lots of times."

"Yes, but..."

"We'll be fine," Winona says, laying a hand on her friend's arm. "We're ready for this."

"I'm not sure I am," Raylan grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the counter. He blows out a breath, truly wondering if this is such a good idea.

Winona glares at him, but Brett laughs. "Just think of them as tiny escaped fugitives," he says. "And your job is to keep them occupied, then capture them and secure them in the prisons that are their respective bedrooms so that everyone can get some sleep. The only differences are, you have to do it over and over again and you can't shoot them." Raylan's eyebrow goes up. "_Or_ use handcuffs," Brett adds.

"Thanks, that analogy is helpful. I have a whole new perspective on parenting."

"It's all about capture and containment." Brett says. "And dirty diapers." He stoops to shoulder the duffel bag and grabs a carryon in his other hand.

Trina glances around the kitchen again. "There's plenty of beer and I picked up a couple bottles of that wine we had the last time you were over." She smiles at Winona. "I have at least a glass a day. A big glass." Trina bites her lip. "Are you sure you're..."

"Go," Winona laughs at her friend.

"Alright." Trina and Brett stop in the family room to hug and kiss both kids.

"When will you be back?" Walt worries. Looking up from playing Legos on the floor.

"I told you," Trina says gently. "We'll be back right after you have soccer on Wednesday."

He chews on his bottom lip. "Who'll take me to soccer?"

"That'd be me, buddy, okay?" Raylan stoops down to Walt's level and the boy looks at him skeptically.

"Do you know about soccer? My daddy knows all about soccer."

"You can teach me."

"Oh. Okay." Walt, seemingly satisfied, goes back to his Legos.

Trina holds Madeline, nuzzling the little girl's soft curls. "Be good, Baby Girl. Mommy loves you." She passes her to Winona, sniffles, and picks up her purse from the coffee table.

Winona hugs her friend. "Have a wonderful time," she whispers. "Don't worry about anything. We'll be just fine. It'll be a trial run."

Trina laughs and plants one last kiss on each child's cheek before heading out the door after her husband.

-o-o-o-o-o-

"'Nona?" Raylan calls from the family room.

"Back here." She pulls off the dirty diaper, trying not to breathe as she drops it into the diaper-eating contraption Trina pointed out next to the changing table. "How can someone so little make such a big mess," she says in baby-voice. "You stink...yes you do..." She taps the baby's stomach with her fingers and Madeline wiggles in response.

"Oh God, what's that smell?" Raylan says, stopping in the doorway.

The baby giggles in answer, showing off two new teeth, as Winona finishes the clean-up and fastens her into a new diaper.

"Walt wants pizza. Whaddya say we go to Benny's?"

"That sounds good. But Maddie here is going to need a whole new ensemble." She gestures to the soiled leggings. "I'll have to do some laundry." She wrinkles her nose. "Those definitely can't wait until Trina comes back."

It takes them twenty minutes to pack up, figure out the child safety seats, and get to Benny's, just around the corner. The restaurant is crowded on a Saturday night, but they manage to find a booth and a waitress hustles over with menus and a pack of crayons that she hands to Walt. "You need a booster and a high chair, right?"

"And a beer," Raylan flashes her a grin.

"Make it two," Winona says. She bounces Maddie in her lap while Walt busies himself scribbling across the coloring page on the back of the menu.

A busboy appears with a high chair, and she settles the baby in, opening a plastic bowl of Cheerios and putting it in front of her. Madeline grabs two and gleefully shoves them in her mouth, then offers one to Raylan.

"Thank you," he says.

"See," she says, after the waitress brings their beers and takes the order. "This isn't bad, is it?" She clinks her bottle against his. "I think we're doing pretty well, Cowboy."

Raylan arches a brow over his bottle. "It's only been three hours."

She sighs. "You expect trouble, so that's what you find. I expect things to go...Oh! Walt!"

In the short span of their conversation, the child has stopped coloring, instead dumping the entire contents of the salt and pepper shakers onto the table.

"How'd he get those lids off?" Raylan mutters, grabbing up the container and restraining Walt's hands as Winona flags down the waitress.

"Leggo!" Walt squirms. "Let me go!" He kicks at the seat, but Raylan holds on tight. Maddie stares at her brother, wide-eyed, and her bottom lip begins to tremble.

"Don't cry, Sweetie," Winona soothes.

Diners at other tables begin to stare and Raylan flushes red. "Yeah, this is goin' real well." He grimaces at Winona.

"Walt," Winona says, lowering her voice and making eye contact across the table. "Stop."

The boy's lower lip goes out. "No! Leggo! Leggo!" He yells even louder.

When the waitress comes Raylan asks for the pizza to go. She hurries back with a box and he manages to wrangle that and a now sobbing Walt out to the car while Winona follows with Madeline and the diaper bag. A heavy-set woman at a nearby table touches her arm. "It gets better, dear," she assures her. "And it's all worth it."

"Tell that to my husband," Winona sighs.


End file.
